I Brought Foxholes to Fistfights
by NorthPawRun
Summary: After a chance encounter with Catherine's sister, a jaded Sara begins on a complicated journey towards trust and triumph.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: I would not have guessed that my first fanfiction story would be a C/S one, but after reading all the different relationship combinations CSI has to offer, I was the most impressed with this one. I always found it interesting to see the different ways authors brought these two strong characters together. And oddly enough, since the show seems to cast them against each other quite a bit, I always found the C/S combination the most believable. **

**Needless to say, I have been reading many of your guys' amazing stories throughout the years. I have finally found the time to complete one of my own. I hope you don't mind me playing in your world for awhile – I'll be sure to return the keys when I'm done.**

**This story is pretty long and has already been finished, so updates should occur pretty regularly. Reviews are always welcome.**

**Disclaimer: If you really want to sue me for the loaf of bread and staple remover that are my sole possessions, they're all yours.**

**Enjoy.**

Chapter 1:

Collin is dead.

His smile and sparkling blue eyes never again to light up my ER.

Well, not technically _my_ ER, but I like to think of it that way. After all, I will humbly tell you that it is the nurses that are the unsung heroes of any hospital. The ones that get to spend the most time with their patients, get to know them by their name instead of their vital statistics. The ones that get to put their heart into their patients, take a vested interest in their lives – whether it be frowned upon or not.

And that, my friends, is why I am sitting at a bar, trying to drink away the memory of Collin's cold, pale face and sobbing mother. To erase the feel of his hand growing limp in mine as he finally gave up his brave fight against leukemia. He was a frequent visitor to our oncology ward, and most definitely our favorite visitor. I still can't believe he won't be showing us any more of his magic tricks or his soccer skills.

Fuck, I need another drink.

I am about to hail the bartender to order a second beer when I realize what I am doing. Collin's father was an alcoholic. Started drinking the day after his son was diagnosed with cancer. Collin never said anything, but I could tell that in his 11 year old mind that he thought it was his fault. _Way to honor his memory, Nance._

Shaking my head, I gather my things and head to the door to go home. The cool Nevada night is a welcome replacement to the stale air of the bar. I inhale deeply and reach out to unlock my car door.

That's when I hear what sounds to be some sort of a scuffle coming from the back of the parking lot.

Pulling out my cell phone in case I need to call the police, I cautiously approach the source of the noise. I know, it's like the blond girl who runs into the house with the serial killer. But I can't help it – someone could be injured and in need of assistance.

I am glad to see that the parking lot is very well lit, but it also brings the horror of the situation to light, literally. There is a well built male beginning to advance on a thin brunette female.

"What the fuck did you say to me?!" The anger in the man's voice is enough to tell me that this situation is not going anywhere good. I am about to call 911 when the brunette snaps into action. I hadn't even noticed the knife the large man held in his hand until it was somehow miraculously ripped out by the woman and sent hurtling into the shrubbery.

The man grabs the woman by her hair and slams his fist into her face. I cringe as I see blood pour out of her nose and mouth. She hits the ground just as I have pulled the phone open to dial. My actions stop in shock when the young woman snorts with laughter before spitting some blood out onto the pavement.

Her voice is raspy when she speaks. "You heard me loud and clear, asshole." I really can't believe this girl. Is she trying to get herself killed?

I needn't have worried.

As if possessed by the devil himself, the woman gets to her feet, albeit a bit slowly, and smacks her own fist into the man's face. I can hear the crack of his nose from where I am standing. I am at a loss for words as to what happens next.

The brunette continues to wail on the man, landing blow after blow until the man crumbles to his knees. It is obvious that the man had been heavily drinking, aiding the woman in her attack with his awfully slow reaction times. However, even so, the anger in the woman's eyes as she pounds her fist into his face is almost animalistic. I have never seen that sort of pure rage in a person before. I really don't know who I should be helping at this point.

Just as the man seems about to lose consciousness, the young woman appears to come to her senses a bit. Breathing heavily, she leans down close to the man's ear.

"If I ever find you around here so much as looking at a girl the wrong way, I won't hesitate to finish the job. Like they taught you in the 6th grade, no means no. You're lucky that woman took off before I could convince her to convict your ass for attempted rape. Now get the fuck away from here."

The man stumbles to his feet, his eyes never leaving his shoes, and staggers to the bushes where he grabs his fallen knife before scurrying off into the shadows.

I am still standing there, shocked into immobility, mouth hanging open. Much to my disbelief, the woman turns to me and looks me dead in the eye.

I hadn't realized she had known I was watching her this whole time.

"You really shouldn't approach these sorts of situations. You could have gotten hurt." Without another word, she grabs her keys from her pocket and stalks off towards what I assume to be her vehicle.

She is limping very badly, and for the first time I can see through her torn jeans what appears to be a large gash in the thigh of her right leg. The man must have stabbed her with the knife before she was able to wrestle it away from him. My nursing instincts kick in and I hurry to catch up to her.

She doesn't seem like the type to want to be touched, so instead of grabbing her arm I settle for stepping in front of her to block her path. "You need to go to a hospital and get that leg looked at."

She doesn't even stop and simply limps her way around me.

There is no way I am letting her get into her car and drive away. She could have severed her femoral artery and bleed out behind the wheel, a lose-lose for everyone involved.

I feel her stiffen as I have no choice but to grab her forearm. She turns to me, and instead of the expected rage, I see a strange gentleness. But there is still something utterly haunted in her eyes, making me shudder.

Her voice is hoarse, but her request is stated with strength. "Please, do not touch me."

I really don't know what it is, but something about this much-too-thin and bleeding woman makes me feel like I have seen her before. Or that I know her in some way.

Shaking my head, I remove my hand. "I'm sorry. Look, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm a nurse and I would really like to take a look at your leg."

She stares at me for a minute or two with her hazel eyes, almost as if she is trying to see deep enough to know if she can trust me.

"No hospitals."

I guess I will have to take what I can get.

"Fine, no hospitals. But you have to let me take you to my place where I have the stuff I need to take care that wound."

I can tell this makes her a bit uncomfortable, but I see resignation, along with a heavy amount of exhaustion, take over.

"Alright. But we have to take my car. It's a company car and I can't really leave it in a bar parking lot."

She shuffles her way to a black Tahoe equipped with red and blue strobes on the grill, and that's when it all fits.

My sister Catherine drives the same exact car. A CSI issued Tahoe. Granted, it could be a coincidence, or she could be some other form of law enforcement, but with the way my sister described one particular coworker makes me think that I have the one and only Sara Sidle in my presence.

Again, could be a coincidence, but I would have to say that Cath's description of "stubborn, lanky, guarded, self-destructive, and supremely frustrating brunette" seems to fit the woman standing in front of me quite well.

This should be interesting. Especially since my sister also happened to confess to me last week in tears that she thinks she is in love with Sara, the very woman that she had tried for so long to force herself to hate.

Oh what a delightful evening this has turned out to be.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you all for the kind reviews – they mean more than you know.**

**Enjoy.**

Sara heads to the driver's side of the car.

Thankfully for me, she can't seem to be able to lift her right leg high enough to step up into the SUV. It gives me enough time to come to my senses and grab the keys from her hand just as she is about to attempt an awkward left footed entrance. Gosh, this woman really _is_ stubborn.

She turns to me with confusion, her puzzled expression almost cute if it weren't for the blood still running down her face. From what my sister has told me, Sara doesn't really respond to requests involving her own wellbeing. But according to my sister, she is the first to protect someone she cares about. For this reason, I don't even bother trying to convince her of how she could kill herself trying to drive with a bum leg. Instead, I go straight for the heart strings.

"Look, I don't mean to be rude. But I have a kid who I think would very much like to have his mother remain in one piece. And I don't think that has a very good chance of happening if you try to drive in your current condition."

I can see what almost appears to be shame pass through her.

Without such as a word of protest, she goes around to the passenger side, "Of course. I'm sorry."

It's hard to handle the stark contrast of this skittish and almost shy woman with the person who I saw only moments ago beat a man nearly to death.

I climb into the driver's seat, and I am not surprised when Sara refuses my hand and pulls herself painfully into the seat next to me. After significantly adjusting the driver's seat to accommodate a shorter operator, I pull out of the parking lot.

Neither of us speaks as I drive quickly to my house. I don't live far, but I am concerned with the amount of blood that Sara has been losing. I can see her body shaking in my peripheral vision, and I am worried that with her amount of blood loss that she could be slipping into shock.

Pulling into my driveway, I move around to Sara's door. She has the door open, but I can see the struggle she is having to get her right leg to cooperate in order to get herself out of the vehicle. I reach out to help her, but her body immediately reacts by jerking away from me. Embarrassed, I mumble a quick "I'm sorry" and try not to cringe as she lowers herself painfully from the car.

I can almost see the thought process going through her head as she closes the car door behind her. Her ability to control the movement of her leg, not to mention its ability to support weight, has dramatically decreased.

I can see her trying to calculate her ability level according to the distance to my front door and the number of steps needed to climb onto the porch. I let her come to her own conclusion, the conclusion I came to long ago – there is no way she is going to be able to get herself to the door.

She seems utterly at a loss for what to do. Deciding that this woman would rather stand out here all night than ask for help, I take pity on her.

In as gentle a voice as I can, I plea with her, "Do you think you would be okay with me putting my arm around your waist to help you get into the house?"

I do not know what the young woman has been through to make her so hesitant to accept physical contact and I do not want to pressure her, but I simply see no other way around it.

She seems to come to the same realization. Clenching her jaw, she nods her head. She watches me warily as I approach her very slowly and extend my arm towards her waist. I see her close her eyes and take a deep breath. Opening them, she nods at me again, and I close my arm around her.

I can feel her tense, but she seems to be handling the situation. "Alright, put your arm around me and put as much of your weight on me as you need." She hesitates for a second, and then gently places her arm around my shoulder.

"I don't want to crush you."

I almost laugh at the thought. This woman has a good three inches on me, but I would bet good money that I outweigh her by at least 20lbs. And I am quite slim, I'll have you know.

"I really don't see that happening. You ready?" She starts attempting to limp toward the door, so I take that as a yes. Moving slowly, and holding her in such a way so that she really has no choice but to lean on me, we make our way to the steps.

I don't give her a chance to analyze the situation before I practically lift her up my steps without much effort.

Reaching the front door, I grab my keys from my pocket and shuffle us inside. I turn on the inside lights and move Sara so she can lean on a wall while I grab my medical bag from my room. Having a kid, I always wanted to make sure I had certain supplies on hand in case I ever needed them in an emergency. Some people take staplers and pens from their office, I take gauze and disinfectants. So sue me.

I place the bag on the coffee table in the living room and before I can move to help Sara, she has limped her way over. I really need to reign in my temper. People usually don't appreciate it when you call them obstinate mules.

I can't help the stern tone my voice takes, however. "Sit down and don't you dare move." Quirking an eyebrow in response, she sets herself on the edge of the coffee table.

I raise my own eyebrow at her.

She shrugs, "I don't want to get blood on your couch."

Okay then.

I sit on the couch directly in front of her and place my bag next to me. I get out everything I need and move the bag to the floor. I can feel Sara's eyes on me every step of the way. I think she is half expecting me to pull out a syringe of sulfuric acid and stab her in the neck with it.

I grab my scissors. "Are you particularly fond of your pants?"

I see a ghost of a smile grace her lips, and she shakes her head 'no'. Having learned from past experiences, I try to move very slowly towards her.

"I'm going to cut away your right pant leg so I can get to your wound better, alright?"

I wait for her to nod her head before I continue. I try to move slowly and use the least amount of contact possible, but as I feel her continued trembling beneath my hands, I hurry my movements.

Years of nursing experience in the trauma center before I transferred to oncology is the only thing that keeps me from gasping aloud as I reveal her leg wound.

The knife had been large, so I had expected a serious injury, but I was not prepared for how deep it penetrated. I know that if I were to reach my fingers down into it, I would reach her femur. This is much too serious to properly address in my freaking living room.

I grab a rag and saturate it with disinfectant and make sure Sara sees my intention of cleaning the wound before touching her leg. I grimace right along with Sara as I wipe the blood away. This stuff stings like a mother when you put it on a paper cut, I can only imagine the burn it must be causing on a wound this size.

I decide to try to distract Sara a bit. "So, since you are sitting on my coffee table with only half your pants, perhaps I should know your name."

I can see a struggle in her eyes. "Megan."

That throws me for a loop. I am positive this is Sara Sidle. I even saw her CSI vest with "Sidle" on it on the back seat of her Tahoe. So apparently she trusts me enough to give me a fake name. Splendid.

"Nice to meet you Megan, I'm Nancy." She seems to take interest in my name and looks at me a bit closely. I wonder if Catherine has ever mentioned my name to her coworkers. She and I are similar enough in appearance that if you know what you are looking for, the resemblance is obvious.

Apparently she either doesn't make the connection or decides not to comment on it. Having cleaned the wound, I can see the full extent of it much better.

It's about 2.5inches in length, but it is the placement and the depth that concerns me. There are certain muscle groups in the thigh that are responsible for motor function. If those are severed, there really is no way to regain full motor function in the leg. You become one of the lucky ones to walk with a limp the rest of your life.

Judging by the placement and the lack of control Sara has with her leg, I am fairly confident that she is one of those lucky folks. Her muscle tone and control should improve over time, but I would be highly surprised if there isn't some sort of permanent evidence of the trauma left in her gait.

"Megan, I'm sorry, but this is way too serious for me to treat here. You need stitches at the very least. I'm afraid that you have significant muscle damage. It's at such a location that there probably isn't much that can be done in order to treat it, but it should be evaluated all the same. It is most likely going to be something that simply heals over time. However, I do have to warn you that you will probably never regain full use of your leg muscle. Meaning you will probably walk with a limp. I'm really sorry."

She takes a minute to absorb what I've just told her. "You have nothing to be sorry about. But no, no hospitals. You said yourself there is nothing to be done but stitching. Can you do it here? Cause if not, I'm pretty sure I own a sewing needle and some thread back home I can make use of."

I only half think she is kidding. I am barely able to resist the urge to physically drag her to the hospital because I know deep down that there is nothing they could do there for her that I cannot do right here.

This is a frustrating injury to see, because there is virtually no synthetic means by which to improve the prognosis. It pretty much is what it is and has to be left to heal on its own time.

I sigh deeply, hoping to convey my displeasure at the situation. "I have stuff here, but I don't have any of the good numbing agents. The stuff I have is meant for a small wound, not something like this."

Wiping absently at the blood on her face, she shakes her head. "That's fine."

I knew this would be her answer. But the situation makes me unsettled inside, to put it lightly.

Shaking my head, I state sternly, "No, it's not fine. If you don't care about yourself, then care about me and how I would rather not stitch someone up who I know will be able to feel each and every pull of my needle. No thank you."

Sara responds, her hoarse voice brimming with regret, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have put you in this position by accepting your help. I'll leave and figure something out. But I hope perhaps you can feel better knowing that the care you insisted on giving me here so far is better than what I would have been able to do for myself. So truly, thank you."

Is she serious? She is just going to leave? I don't have to wait long to get an answer as she struggles to her feet. Holy hell.

"Sit the fuck down." She stares at me a moment in shock before obediently sitting back down. "You are probably the most stubborn person I have ever met, and I only just met you an hour ago. I hope you know that. I'll stitch your leg. But it's going to hurt like the devil. But it probably serves you right at this point."

Sara lets out a chuckle. "Thank you." She grows serious again. "Really though, I am sorry that this makes you uncomfortable. You are being so kind to help me at all, I hate to abuse that in any way."

I can see the true remorse in her eyes and I feel a bit bad for being so angry with her. After all, she is going to be the one getting a needle shoved through her leg and she is worried about making _me_ uncomfortable.

Without further ado, I grab my suture kit from my bag and the crappy numbing stuff I have on hand. I empty the whole bottle on her leg, knowing it won't really do any good, but it makes me feel better. I thread the needle and look up to see if she is ready. She sends me a nod and even a smile.

I cannot think about what I am doing too hard, or I am going to back out. I grab her leg and feel her once again tense under my touch. I place the needle to her skin and begin to sew the wound. I try to work as quickly and carefully as I can, and the few times I steal a glance at Sara's face I can see her grimacing in pain.

The shaking in her body increases as I get to the end of my suturing, and by the last stitch she is shaking so badly that I am having a hard time placing the needle. Finally finishing and cutting the last suture free of the needle, I realize I have tears in my eyes. Part of being a nurse is a desire to alleviate people's pain, not cause it.

I am not surprised when Sara lets out a hoarse moan of pain and yells, "Fuck!"

I wish I could reach out to her, but knowing Sara that would probably only make the situation worse for her. I can only mumble, "I'm so sorry" over and over again.

I'm surprised when I feel Sara's hand reach out and hold my arm. She is still shaking violently, but she seems to be regaining her control. "No, Nancy, do not apologize to me. I cannot thank you enough, really."

I nod my head, knowing that despite the awful conditions, in the end I _did_ help.

I break into a genuine smile when I hear her next words.

"By the way, my real name is actually Sara."


	3. Chapter 3

After the whole leg suturing fiasco, I am thankful that, after careful inspection, Sara's nose does not appear to be broken. There is some light bruising around the bridge and below her eyes, but the bone most definitely seems intact. She also has a pretty decent gash in her bottom lip on the left side, but thankfully it doesn't seem deep enough to warrant stitches.

If it had, you can be darn sure Sara would have been dragged kicking and screaming to the hospital by yours truly. There is no way I am going anywhere near my at-home suture kit any time in the near future.

I can feel Sara's eyes tracking me as I get up from the couch and walk to my room to gather some spare clothes for her to borrow.

"You walk like her," she states in a voice so quiet I almost didn't hear her. Grabbing a pair of scrub pants that I am confident are long enough to fit her tall frame and an old University of Montana t-shirt, I step back into the living room.

"Excuse me?"

"Your sister," she states, watching me closely. "You walk like her."

So apparently she _did_ make the connection. I should have known, she is a CSI after all.

I decide not to even try to play dumb. It likely sounds corny, but I feel some sort of comradery with Sara after this evening. And to lie to her after all of this, it just feels wrong.

"Yeah, people can usually peg us as sisters from pretty far away."

Not knowing what else to say, I simply hand her over the clothes. She takes them gently, still not taking her eyes off me.

"You knew who I was right away, didn't you?" She snorts, finally looking away from me. "I bet Catherine has had a thing or two to say about me over the years."

Oh, if only she knew.

True, there were a lot of complaints and venting sessions about the 'incorrigible' Sara Sidle at the beginning. But after awhile, it seemed that she got tired of carrying on the façade, tired of trying to force herself to be angry with someone who she knew deep down she genuinely cared for. Her frustrations have instead shifted lately to her lack of knowledge about the brunette, and the walls Sara keeps putting up to ensure that Catherine never gets that knowledge.

I smile, "Yeah, well, you drive the same car as her and you are the only other female CSI she works with – so it wouldn't have been hard to figure out. Not to mention the CSI vest in the back seat with 'Sidle' on it…"

I am surprised to see a slight tinge of red color her cheeks. She didn't really strike me as the type to get embarrassed easily. Or at all.

Looking down at her hands, she shakes her head slightly. "I'm sorry about the 'Megan' thing. I can only imagine what you must have thought of me. Here I am beating some guy to a pulp outside a bar, then I go ahead and give you a fake name. I wouldn't trust someone like me, that's for sure."

I really don't know what to say about the first part, the part about her beating a man to a pulp, yet – so I decide to address the second. "Well, I thought with the whole fake name thing it was _you_ who didn't trust _me_."

I can see her thinking about how to respond.

"I guess I was concerned with the situation. There are certain people at my lab that would love nothing more than to find out about the incident at the bar and use it to fire me. My job is all I have, and I didn't want to take the risk of losing it," she states. Then she shrugs. "Plus, I figured I would never see you again in my life, so what difference did it make, you know?"

I roll my eyes. "You had to have known your leg would need stitches. And how exactly did you think the stitches would come out, huh? I would just let you leave here and say 'Alright, have a nice life'? Or do you think a kind and conscientious person such as myself would request a return visit in which to remove the strings holding your skin together?"

I pause for a moment when I realize Sara's thought process.

"Oh my God, you were going to just cut them out yourself, weren't you?! What, grab some kitchen shears and have a whack at it? I mean, it can't be that hard, right?"

I shake my head when she fails to respond, confirming that it was indeed _exactly_ what she was planning on doing.

"You're unbelievable," I state tersely. "Well, now that I know where to hunt you down and find you, you are most definitely getting them taken out properly. I also happen to have a sister who owes me many favors, a sister who carries a gun. Don't you dare try and get out of it."

I can see her smile in response, but I know that she understands that underneath I am dead serious.

Finally looking me in the eyes again, she nods her head. Despite the whole name fiasco, I feel that when Sara gives her word to someone, you can count on it being upheld.

"Good. Now, I'll help you to the bathroom where you can clean yourself up a bit and change. When you come back I'll have you pull up your pant leg so I can wrap the wound up for you."

I can see the struggle in her eyes of whether to argue against my assistance. Fortunately, I think that the eventful night has taken enough out of her that she is more willing to give in then put forth the energy it would take to fight with me.

I resist the urge to simply step over and scoop her slight frame up into my arms and carry her to the darn bathroom, figuring that might just push her over the edge.

Instead, I stand in front of her and offer her my hand to help her stand. I assume she will be more comfortable if she 'initiates' the contact in this manner. Taking my outstretched hand with her cold one, she pulls herself to her feet. I can tell the adrenaline has worn off and now the pain is beginning to settle in. I'll be sure to get her some aspirin while she is changing.

Once standing, we resume our 'walking' position same as before. As I wrap my arm around her slim waist, I am glad to see that her shaking for the most part has stopped. She still tremors slightly, but I take this as a sign of her simply being cold as a result of all the blood loss than anything more serious.

After a short while, we make it to my bathroom and I orient her so that she can lean on the counter. I know she will decline any offer to help her change, so I decide it is safe enough to leave her to her own devices.

I close the door behind me as I head to the kitchen to grab the aspirin and a glass of water. I use the moment alone to take a deep breath and try to collect myself.

Triaging my sister's love interest in my living room is not exactly how I saw my night going.

I really don't know what to think of Sara, either.

On one hand I am extremely concerned about the anger and violence I saw her exhibit only hours before. Catherine has already had one violent bastard in her life, and I'll go to my grave before I witness her go through that again.

On the other hand, however, I have seen no traces of that side of Sara all night. Instead, I have seen a strangely gentle and kind woman. A bit headstrong, yes, but I don't for one moment fear my safety with her. Quite the opposite, actually. There is a strange sense of safety and calm I feel in her presence that I simply cannot explain.

I shake my head. All this thinking has given me a headache instead of insight. Grabbing an extra aspirin for myself, I return to the living room to set the water and meds for Sara on the end table next to the couch.

"Why did I know I should have waited outside the door to make sure your stubborn ass didn't try to walk itself back in here without my help?" I address the form sitting on my couch.

I don't even have enough energy left to be upset.

Sitting on the couch as though nothing has happened, Sara seems entirely unashamed. "Well, you said there was nothing to be done to help my leg get better, such as staying off of it. That it had to heal on its own. So, I figured walking on it wouldn't hurt in the sense of doing it any harm."

I really can't argue with her, because she is right. But Miss 'I would rather walk on my mangled version of a leg than ask for your help' is really starting to exhaust me. And if I'm honest with myself, concern me as well.

I mean, normal people aren't _this_ adverse to help, are they?

I can tell that she sees my exhaustion as I sit next to her on the couch. Taking pity on me, and perhaps as a bit of a peace offering, she pulls up her pant leg without prompting and props it up on the coffee table so that I will be able to wrap her stitched wound easily.

I can see her trying very hard not to show her pain as I finish my wrapping job. I have made sure it is tight enough to protect the stitching and offer her damaged muscle some support, but not so tight that she isn't getting the appropriate blood supply to the wound.

Without a word, I hand her the glass and the aspirin when I am finished.

I can see her staring intently at the white pills, and attempting to be subtle about it.

At first I think she is going to continue her stubborn streak, insisting she doesn't need them. But instead, I realize that she is trying to read the imprinted code on them, trying to figure out what I have given her.

Interesting.

"They're aspirin."

She jerks her head up, not realizing I caught what she was doing. But the answer seems to be the one she was looking for and she quickly takes the pills without so much as a peep - letting me know that she either is finally feeling guilty for being such a difficult patient, or she is in quite a lot of pain.

I suspect it's a bit of both.

"I have an extra room in the back, or you are welcome to stay right here and sleep on the couch if you are willing to risk getting a kidney speared by one of the many springs."

Finishing the water and setting the glass on the table, Sara turns to me with guarded eyes. "I'll stick with the couch. Thank you, Nancy, for letting me stay."

I think I am so surprised that she actually accepted my offer to spend the night that I forget how to respond. Finally regaining my faculties, I get up to grab a blanket from the spare room while thanking the heavens that Sara is finally willing to accept a small gesture of my help without argument.

I can't help but hurry when getting the blanket, though. I'm half afraid she only said yes to get me out of the room long enough for her to make a break for the door.

Grabbing the blanket and some pillows as well, Sara is thankfully right where I left her when I step back into the room. I hand her the pillows, which she arranges against the arm of the couch before leaning into them.

Without thinking, I take both of her legs and help her swing them up onto the couch so that she is in a full laying position. I can't help the smile on my face when I feel her barely tense at my touch.

Deciding to push my luck, I open the blanket and lay it over her. I am suddenly grateful for the bulky material, previously annoying, but now functional as it is able to cover her entire length.

Sara half smiles at me, and I can tell that she tolerated my 'mothering' gestures, perhaps understanding how much I needed to be able to take care of her in this small way.

"I work the same shift as you, so I'll wake you up when I get myself up to get ready for work, okay? Then we can check your leg and go grab my car from the bar?"

I feel if I can get her to agree, it will allow me the peace of mind of knowing that she is safe for the time being. Otherwise I would be afraid that in the morning I would find my house empty, and Sara long gone.

Her eyes are closed, and for a second I think she is either asleep or very boldly ignoring me.

"That's fine," she states. "Thank you, Nancy. For everything."

Turning off the lights around the room and closing the curtains against the streetlights, I say the only thing my exhausted psyche can come up with.

"You're welcome."

**************

It was not so much me fearing that the mysterious Sara Sidle would slaughter me in my sleep that had me sitting in a chair watching her slumber from a dark corner of the room.

No, rather, it was me fearing that Sara was the one being slaughtered.

Forty-seven minutes after laying myself down to sleep, and yes, I counted every ticking minute of the clock, I heard what I can best describe as a strangled scream come from my living room.

I was up and running into the room with speed I have only equaled when running into my kitchen because I have managed to cause my oven to burst into flames for the umpteenth time.

Sara's scream must have already woken her from her sleep; I could see the slight light from the windows glisten off her open eyes. Not wanting to embarrass her by letting her know I had heard her, I stayed along the far wall, well hidden in shadow.

Taking a deep breath, Sara ran her hands through her hair and simply buried her head farther into her pillow to return to sleep. I got the feeling that Sara tended to have nightmares often based on her blasé reaction.

I decided that I wasn't likely to be getting any sleep of my own anytime soon with the rate my heart was currently thundering at, so I settled for sitting on my favorite rocking chair in the corner of the room with a blanket of my own.

I checked first to make sure that the chair was not visible from Sara's position on the couch.

I think her waking up to my staring at her, watching her sleep, would perhaps be a deal breaker for any sort of future friendship.

I spent the next hour watching Sara getting tortured.

That's the only way I can describe it.

She would fall asleep, and no sooner than a dozen minutes later would start twitching. The twitching would quickly lead to shaking, then to thrashing. The thrashing would continue and she would begin to whimper. Then would come the anguished scream that would finally be loud enough to jar her awake.

Each time she would jolt up and immediately cast a tentative glance toward my room, most likely afraid her screaming had woken me, before taking some calming breaths and settling back to sleep.

I don't know if it was my concern for Sara's privacy and her pride that kept me from waking her when I could see her obviously in the throes of her nightmares. Or perhaps it was the realization that she would do a darn efficient job of waking herself up all on her own.

Either way, I sat and watched her have nightmare after nightmare, wondering how the woman managed to get any decent sleep if her nights were always like this.

Sara is obviously a tormented person. Her eyes tell you so when you look at her at the right time or she looks at you in the right way, but seeing her like this when she is asleep sends all doubt to the grave.

I like Sara, I really do. I have only just met her, but from what my sister has told me, and the overall gut feeling I get about her when she is near, I feel I can trust her. I feel safe around her. But watching her sleep, and witnessing her inner rage earlier, I ashamedly wonder if Sara is nothing but a ticking bomb.

And what scares me, is that with bombs, you feel perfectly safe and secure until the moment you aren't. The moment it goes off. The moment where it's too late to go back and rethink your actions and how you could have kept yourself out of harm's way.

I don't want to think this way about Sara. My gut is telling me that I have nothing to fear, that her anger earlier toward the would-be rapist was justified and that many people have nightmares while they sleep.

I just get the feeling that Sara has been through a lot in her life, that she has been _put_ through a lot in her life. And whether we like it or not, the things that happen to us can change us.

I'm not trying to imply that Sara is damaged goods or that she is broken beyond repair, but I have my sister to think about. Catherine is my family, and I love her more than myself. I would feel negligent if I weren't concerned about _anyone_ that Catherine was in love with.

But I am especially concerned with Sara.

It's hard to understand someone who is so guarded, so distant. And what we don't understand, we often find ourselves more than a bit wary of.

No sooner did I think these thoughts that I hear a key slide into my front door and the door get pushed in with a slight creak.

Oh fiddlesticks, of all the days for Catherine to choose to stop in and visit.

Lord have mercy on us all.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Again, I have to thank you all for all the amazingly kind reviews. I have to be honest, I was having some moments of doubt after deciding to post my story up here. One of those things where you wonder if anyone out there is going to actually enjoy the stuff that your mind comes up with, or if you're just taking up space on the fanfiction server. All your kind words have really meant so much to me – I can only hope at this point that I don't let any of you down.**

**This chapter is from Catherine's POV. Don't worry, Nancy will be present throughout the story and will switch off as the narrator with Catherine. My goal was to write a story that centered a bit around things Sara was going through without ever using Sara as the narrator. **

**Enjoy.**

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Entering my sister's house, I figure she will be asleep. She works the same shift as me, and she really needs the few hours she gets to rest in her busy hospital schedule. Call me selfish, though, because after the case I had I want nothing more than to come here and have one of our late night coffee sessions.

I start to tiptoe my way to her room, to check if she is actually asleep. I figure if she is then I'll simply drop off the cookbook I brought with me to return to her and be on my way.

No need to wake her because her big sister is afraid to be alone.

I nearly have a heart attack when Nancy steps out of the shadows of her living room and pushes me towards her bedroom with her finger over her lips in a 'shush' position.

When we get to her room and she has closed the door behind us I can't help but giggle.

"Nance, I feel like we're in high school again! If you brought someone home with you, you don't need to be all embarrassed about it – I'll just put this book somewhere and be on my way. I wouldn't want to interrupt anything…" I wiggle my eyebrows at her suggestively, to which she promptly rolls her eyes.

I have rarely seen my sister so nervous, and it is beginning to make me a bit concerned. Just what kind of guy did she bring home that she is being so edgy?

"Look, Catherine," she starts with a small voice. "I need to explain some things to you, but you have to promise not to freak out, okay?"

And there is the most paradoxical sentence in the English language. Absolutely nothing freaks a person out more then when you tell them not to freak out.

I swear, if she is pregnant or has Greg Sanders on her couch I am going to lose it.

Quirking an eyebrow, I gesture for her to continue.

"Alright. So, I went to a bar after work tonight." I can see her look at me with hesitance. She knows how I feel about her taking out the stresses of her job out on a bottle of Sam Adams. Before I can voice my opinion, however, she continues. "I know. But, Cath, Collin died tonight."

All of my soap box speech about drowning your sorrows goes out the window. Hell, I'm about to take her out to get her drunk myself. I know what a special kid Collin was to my sister. You would think he was her own child the way she would talk about him sometimes. She must be devastated.

I pull her in for a long hug. As I am stroking her hair, I find myself muttering, "Oh Nance, I'm so sorry. Look, people all grieve in their own way. So you took someone home with you from the bar to make you forget, it's nothing to be ashamed of…"

I am surprised when I feel her pull away and she starts to chuckle.

"Thanks, sis. I'll be sure to remember that."

I see her grow serious again.

"Catherine, while I was at the bar I ran into Sara."

Okay. This isn't what I was expecting, but it's still no reason for my sister to be acting all weird. She takes my confused silence as a hint to continue.

"Sara was involved in…a fight. And so I took her home with me to make sure she was okay."

I can tell she is glossing over many details of the night. She knows me better than that.

"What kind of fight, Nancy?"

She hedges. "Uh, Sara was fighting with a guy. I came in kind of in the middle of things. But she was stopping him from raping some woman. The woman had run off before I got there. Sara chased the guy away."

She's not meeting my eyes.

My sister could never lie to save her life. Hide her emotions, yes, but flat out lie, no. Once you knew the right questions to ask she was a goner. It's how I found that she had fed my favorite teddy bear's eyes to our pet gerbil.

"Nancy, is Sara alright?"

I am about to run from the room to check on Sara myself when she hesitates to answer.

"She's okay, Cath. A little banged up, but she's going to be okay. Well, mostly," she finally responds.

What the fuck? Mostly?!

"Nancy!"

"Sorry, um, she kind of got stabbed by the rapist guy. In the leg. She is fine, but she can't really walk very well on it."

I can see her sigh and decide that she will have to tell me all the details eventually, so she might as well save time and do it now.

"The wound was pretty deep, so I stitched it up here. She refused to go to the hospital. She was stabbed along her musculature in a way that will be restrictive to her ability to walk, most likely permanently. She'll recover, Cath, but she'll probably walk with a limp. She also got hit in the face, I checked her nasal bridge and it doesn't appear broken. She has a pretty nice gash in her lip. She was also likely grabbed by the throat, she's pretty hoarse. She didn't say anything to me about it, but I looked to make sure nothing serious was going on while I was looking at her lip. She'll probably get her full voice back in a couple days."

I'm stunned. Of all the people, of all the places, of all the nights. Tonight, my sister runs into the woman I just told her I was in love with. Not only that, but Sara is involved in a fucking street brawl of sorts and somehow convinces my sister not to drag her sorry ass to a hospital.

I don't know why I am so upset, but I am. Maybe it's my fear for Sara's wellbeing, or my discomfort that my sister had to be put in that position, or my embarrassment at this being Nancy's first impression of the woman I am in love with. I really don't know.

"I sure know how to pick 'em, huh?" I rub my forehead. "I'm sorry, Nancy, this must have been very awkward for you. I hope you didn't feel obligated or anything. You could have called me to deal with her."

Looking up at me with surprise, she puts a hand on my arm. "Cath, I did not feel obligated. If anything, Sara insisted time and time again that she did not want to impose. I pretty much had to force her to my house in order to get her to let me take care of her. And I didn't want to call you because I didn't want to scare her off. She gave me a fake name for crying out loud."

I can't help but laugh. That's Sara for you. I can only imagine the situation. My uber-caring nurse sister coming at Sara like Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman. Sara, the ultimate champion of stubbornness and standoffishness, probably insisting that she is fine the entire time.

I can tell that Nancy is holding something back, but I take pity on her and decide I will try to get it out of her at another time. I think her night has been long enough without adding an interrogation to the list.

"Thanks for taking her in, Nance. Sara can be…difficult."

She seems to think about what to say. "You don't have to thank me, I would have done it for anyone. But especially for someone I know you care so deeply for. And Sara, aside from being stubborn as sin, is really a sweetheart."

I would not have predicted to ever hear someone refer to Sara as a 'sweetheart'. But you know what, it fits. For all the tough girl, smart-ass persona she works so hard at, she really is one of the most gentle people I have ever met.

Whenever I need someone to comfort me, help me, make me laugh, Sara is the one I want. And it's not just because I am in love with her, I'm sure any member of the night shift would tell you the same thing. She just has this calm about her, and she can make you feel like you are the most important person in the world.

I'm just relieved that my sister was able to glimpse past Sara's walls enough to see her as the sweet and caring person that she is. I know that Sara would never intentionally be rude to my sister, but I could see her inadvertently lashing out when her independent nature was being challenged.

I can tell that Nancy is being honest, and that she likes Sara, but again I can see that she is leaving some things out. And now I can tell that they have to do with Sara. I really will be sure to talk to her about it soon.

"Can I see her? Is she awake?"

Nancy shakes her head, "She may be awake, she has been waking up a lot. But she, um, has kind of been having a rough night, so perhaps it's better if we let her sleep?"

My eyebrows furrow, "A rough night? Is she still in a lot of pain?" I would hope Sara would at least have accepted some pain killers from my sister, but with Sara, you never know when she will be willing to accept help and to what degree.

"No, at least not that I know of. She took some aspirin before she went to bed, which I hope at least took the edge off. It's just that, she seems to have a lot of nightmares when she sleeps…" She looks at me closely, probably trying to figure out if I already knew this about Sara or not.

I really hate to admit how little I know about Sara. Especially about her sleeping habits. I haven't even been inside her apartment for crying out loud, let alone been in a position to have seen her sleeping. She usually seems much too on edge around me to let her guard down that far.

I am suddenly filled with a feeling of determination. I want to be the person who knows her sleeping patterns, who knows her favorite novel, whether she prefers morning or nighttime showers. I want to know everything about her.

First, perhaps I should tell her how I feel. You know, see how that goes before planning on learning a single thing about her. She could very well go running the second I open my mouth. Good idea, Cath. Way to get ahead of yourself. Do you want to start naming your and Sara's children, too?

"Right. Good idea."

I can tell that Nancy sees that I am at a loss for what to do.

"I was sitting in the rocking chair, staying with her in case she woke up and needed anything. I made sure she didn't know I was there, I'm sure she would have had a thing or two to say about my hovering over her like she was an invalid," she laughs. "But you are more than welcome to take over the spot, keep her company."

I am grateful for my sister's thoughtfulness. It's nice to know that Sara wasn't alone.

"Yeah, sounds good. And why don't you actually try to get a couple hours of shut eye before you have to go back in? You look like shit."

"Thanks," she responds with false hurt in her voice. "I'm going to take a quick shower, calm my mind down a bit, then I'll turn in. Try not to give Sara a heart attack when she wakes up and finds you here. She seems to be under the impression that you would like nothing more than to use her as fertilizer for your tomato garden."

She smiles at me, but I can tell that she is serious as well. Kind of her sisterly way of telling me to get my act together and treat the woman that I love as the woman that I love.

She's absolutely right, and I had made the same commitment to myself just days before. It's time to stop playing games and move on to the rest of my life, the rest of my life that I would like to spend with Sara.

Nancy turns on the adjoining bathroom light, and before she closes the door behind her I see the clothes she must have been wearing before discarded on the bathroom floor. A large portion of her shirt is smeared with blood and there are significant bloodstains on the pants as well.

I know that that is all Sara's blood, and it makes my own blood run cold.

I know Sara is headstrong, and that she hates anything having to do with domestic violence or rape, but to go after a would-be rapist by herself? She could have died tonight, easily. She's damn lucky she didn't.

As Nancy closes the bathroom door behind her, I let my silent tears fall. Sara needs to know that if she dies, then I will be dead for all intents and purposes as well. She needs to know that she has someone to stay alive, stay safe for.

Sara may not care about herself, but I know that she cares about other people and will do anything to alleviate their pain. I am saddened to think that it would never occur to Sara that her being hurt causes me pain – hell, she probably thinks I'd rejoice at the idea.

Shaking my head, I step out into the living room and sit in the rocker. I wrap myself in the blanket that Nancy left behind. Forcing myself to look at the couch, I see Sara for the first time.

Her arm is slung over her eyes, and her long legs are sticking out over the edge of Nancy's couch. She is so quiet as she sleeps that I cannot even hear her breathing. Only the occasional twitch of her arm lets me know she is alive.

I can't see any of her injuries, and so from here it is easy to pretend that I didn't almost lose the love of my life tonight.

So quick, it's so damn quick that your life can change.

If I ever needed a wakeup call to get things right with Sara, this was it.

I watch her for a bit, confused as she starts to shake. I think maybe she is cold, but then as I hear her begin to whimper I realize this must be one of the nightmares Nancy was talking about.

I don't know whether I should wake her. I really don't want to give the poor thing a heart attack as Nancy so kindly pointed out.

The choice is taken out of my hands when Sara screams and jerks into a sitting position. She seems disoriented as she reflexively tries to stand. I can see the moment that she tries to move her injured leg, apparently her right one, when she winces in pain and lets out a frustrated "shit" and lightly kicks my sister's coffee table with her good leg.

The pain seemed to bring back her memory of where she is, and she runs a shaking hand through her hair, no longer trying to get away.

Working her body carefully into a more conventional sitting position, she moves to pinch the bridge of her nose. She quickly realizes that her nose is apparently also a bit sore and pulls her hand away with a sigh.

I can't remember the last time I have seen Sara express any sort of pain. Maybe a migraine on one of our cases. She is usually adamant about not showing weakness, her favorite phrase being 'I'm fine.' I walked into the break room one night after asking Sara repeatedly during shift if she felt okay because she was getting paler and paler as the hours went on. Always, 'Yes, Cath. I'm fine. Don't worry.' I walked in on her puking in the break room sink. And what did she say to me when she realized I caught her? 'I'm sorry, I couldn't make it to the garbage can on time. I cleaned it with that bleach stuff that's always sitting there. Oh, and my report is on your desk.' And she walked out.

So seeing Sara like this, seeing her pain and her frustration, it feels like I am getting a rare glimpse at Sara without walls. She is still incredibly stoic about it all – I probably would have been crying for someone to get me some more aspirin by now. Aside from her initial profanity, she is just sitting there, taking some deep breaths to get herself under control. I have to marvel, I knew that her strength was never a show, but to see her when she thinks no one is watching still exhibit such a determination to overcome, it's almost breathtaking.

I can tell the exact moment she notices that she is not alone. She gets incredibly still, and I swear she is holding her breath, listening.

When she jerks her head up and looks directly at me, I realize my mistake.

When I heard her screaming in her nightmare, I must have stood and moved towards her in order to help her. Then when I saw she had woken herself up, I stayed where I was. I hadn't even noticed I had moved.

I don't know how well Sara can see me in the dim room, but when she forces herself to stand quickly and painfully, I know that she knows it is me. There are not many people that can make Sara feel so uneasy.

I used to take it as a compliment, that she was intimidated by me. But I have since learned that she likely does it in order to protect herself against me. That somehow placing herself physically above me with her added height she can hinder my ability to cut her down with my words. She makes herself physically tall in order to counteract my ability to make her feel small as I demean her.

She would never admit to it, but it's the pattern I have noticed over the years. A pattern that I cannot wait to put to an end.

I stay where I am, not trying to test my luck. "Sara, are you alright? And I swear to God, if you say you are fine I'm going to stab you in your other leg with one of Nancy's knickknacks."

She doesn't react. "You talked to Nancy."

"Yeah, she told me a little bit about what happened. I'm really sorry to hear about the leg situation. I'm going to help you in any way I can. First, though, how about some hot tea? I would suggest coffee, but no offense, you sound like death. The honey will help with your throat."

Great Cath, way to smother her.

"You aren't angry?" Sara is still staring, her face unreadable.

"You were trying to protect a woman and ended up getting hurt for your efforts. Thankfully my sister was there and took care of you." I sigh. I'm not about to go into my feelings of anger that I fleetingly felt only moments before. "Look, I'm not thrilled that you put yourself in such a dangerous position, and trust me, we will talk about that later – but for right now, please let me take care of you."

I swear, if Sara doesn't blink soon her eyeballs are going to shrivel.

"Why?"

This is getting a bit eerie. But I see it as an opportunity.

"Because I care about you, Sara. A lot. I always have. I was just too damn scared, too ashamed to let myself be vulnerable in that way so soon after we lost Holly Gribbs. And once I started down that road with you, it was easier to continue on it then to try to find another way to interact. I was an ass, I know that. And it's something I have actually been working on and wanting to talk with you about for awhile."

She narrows her eyes a bit. "You _have_ been suspiciously nice to me the last couple of shifts."

With Sara, you can never really tell when she is serious or is joking. Her humor is just dry enough to keep you guessing.

She finally looks away with a chuckle when she realizes that I have absolutely no clue how to respond to her.

She makes sure she is looking at me again when she says, "Yeah, well, I could have been kinder to you as well throughout the years. I let you get the best of me and I responded with the ways most likely to hurt you back instead of trying to set a different tone to our relationship."

She shrugs, "Oh, and then I called you an ignorant whore in front of Ecklie. So we both have mistakes to be made up for, I suppose." Her dark hair falls softly over her shoulders as her head quirks slightly to the side, a grin pulling at the corners of her mouth.

I really didn't expect to be having this conversation in this particular fashion, but I find myself smiling as I realize it is so characteristically Sara. I should have known that we wouldn't have some sort of mushy apology session where we cry on each other's shoulders and lament about the pains of our past deeds.

I can see in her eyes that Sara meant what she said, that she is sorry for her role in all of this, but even more prominent is a desire to finally start moving on from it all.

I'm not naive, I don't expect things to be easy from here on out. We have a lot of conditioned, habitual behavior to change and it will take some time.

But I am glad that at least our acknowledgements of our ridiculous behavior over the years have been placed on the table. I feel like this strangely simple, yet pivotal, part of the conversation is something that we have been working our way up to these last couple months. It's like we have been sitting in a car for ages, and we've finally been handed the keys.

As if reading my thoughts, Sara clears her hoarse throat. "I know we have a lot of time to make up for, and it's going to be trying on both of us." Her dark eyes speak volumes as she looks at me, and then she finally breaks her intense gaze, "But how about we start with that tea you promised?"

I know that Sara is acting like she trusts me to be honest in my intentions to change and treat her differently, but I know Sara better than that.

I may not know much about her, but I do know she's not one to spit in your face if you hand her an olive branch, but she is definitely one to keep the gift receipt in case the olive branch doesn't work out and needs to be returned.

I know her trust is not something I have yet, but something that I am going to have to invest a lot of time and effort into earning.

Oh, and then there is the whole issue of telling her just _how_ much I really care about her.

I smile, "Tea it is."

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	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thanks again for the kind words, everyone. They quite literally make my day when I get back from a hectic day at school/clinic and read what you all write.**

**Hope you enjoy, and Happy Thanksgiving to all.**

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I head to the kitchen and prepare two steaming cups of apple cinnamon tea. I practically dumped Nancy's entire bottle of honey into Sara's cup, but she really _did_ sound awful.

I find the front door open a crack when I return to the living room and I assume that was Sara's way of letting me know that she has moved out onto the front porch. Sure enough, I find her sitting on Nancy's steps with a blanket next to her. I hand her one of the cups, and take a seat next to her.

Sara gestures to the blanket that is now between us, "I brought that out here for you, it's a bit chilly."

I take the blanket and spread half of it over my legs. I place the other half carefully over Sara's lap, careful not to hit her injured leg.

She quirks an eyebrow at me and continues to keep her eyes on me as she takes a tentative sip of her tea.

"Sorry, I'm a mom." Oh please, I'm totally not sorry. "How's the tea?"

She nods her head as she gingerly swallows another sip. "It's good, Cath, thanks. A bit sweet," she looks at me knowingly, "but it's nice for a change."

Deciding not to comment on the copious amounts of honey in her tea, after all, I'm not the least bit sorry about that either, I instead enjoy watching the sky with Sara.

We share some small talk, mostly about Lindsey, but the rest of the time is spent in silence. It's a nice silence, though. Neither of us feels the need to fill it, and instead we can simply enjoy being with one another. I know that by nature Sara is a bit of a quiet person, and it's nice to know that she feels comfortable enough right now to share her silence and this brisk Nevada morning with me.

After about an hour, Nancy comes out and joins us on the porch, dressed in her scrubs for work. I can only hope that she managed to get some sleep. I'm sure by now we all look a little haggard, though. It hasn't been an easy night for any of us.

Nancy sits herself on her porch swing and enjoys the companionable silence with us for awhile.

After a bit, however, she checks her watch and sighs.

"Hey Sara, I'm going to have to take off for work soon, so do you mind if I take a look at your leg now?"

I can tell that Sara really _does_ mind, that if it were up to her she would much rather deal with it herself from here on out. But she is polite enough to know that Nancy was being kind in taking care of her when she needed it, and to argue with her at this point would be like a slap in the face.

Sara starts to stand to move over to my sister, "Sure, thanks."

I grab Sara's arm and force her to sit back down at the same time my sister urges, "Sara, for the love of all that is holy, please just stay put. I, the one with two functioning legs, can come to you."

Sara instinctually pulls her arm from my grasp, and I hide my disappointment by turning away as I stand to give Nancy my spot next to Sara.

The situation has turned a bit awkward, and I can tell that Sara feels bad about her reaction, even if she reacted by pure reflex and not choice.

My sister decides the best way to ease the situation is to simply proceed as if nothing has happened.

She directs Sara to pull up her pant leg after Sara moved the blanket off her lap. Normally my sister is a touchy person, so I can only suspect that her hesitance to touch Sara is a result of Sara's preference and not hers. It selfishly makes me feel a bit better that apparently Sara is hesitant to be touched by anyone, and it is not just me that makes her adverse to the idea.

Sara unwraps the bandage around her leg. I have to turn away and stifle my gasp with a mouthful of tea when I see the deep red gash in Sara's leg, black stitches standing out harshly against her pale skin. My sister had told me it was serious, but I curse again Sara's decision to play hero.

Nancy pulls out a tube of antibacterial ointment that I hadn't noticed she had before and hands it to Sara, gesturing to her leg. Sara sends her a look mixed with shame and gratitude when she realizes Nancy is taking pity on her and letting her do this herself.

Nancy takes the tube back from Sara when she is done. Grabbing a clean bandage from a pocket in her scrubs, she looks at Sara and waits for her nod of permission before she proceeds to wrap her leg back up for her. Watching their silent communication, I feel that I am watching a repeat of what must have happened last night when Nancy realized that Sara is a bit more skittish than most.

Nancy explains how to make sure that the bandage is tight enough without being too tight while she is wrapping so that Sara is able to repeat the process when she is on her own.

I am surprised when I see Sara grab my sister's hand when Nancy finishes and is about to pull away. Sara looks her in the eye, and simply says, "Thank you."

I can tell this is Sara's way of not only thanking her, but apologizing about being reluctant to her touch – letting Nancy know that it is not because of her, but Sara herself. Sara's eyes quickly glance up to mine, and I can tell it's her way of telling me that the unspoken apology is meant for me as well.

Nodding in understanding, Nancy squeezes Sara's hand with her own.

Turning to me, my sister addresses me for the first time. "Hey sis, I need to get to work. Do you think if I took your car to get mine from the bar that you could ride with Sara on your way to work and grab yours?"

I don't know for sure, but I think this is Nancy's way of giving me and Sara time alone to spend together.

I glance to the brunette before answering; she smiles at me and nods her head.

"Sure, leave the keys in the spare tire under the back."

Nancy agrees and gives me a hug goodbye. She gives me a little extra squeeze of support before letting go.

Turning back to Sara, she puts on her 'stern face', which is kind of hard to pull off seeing as she is the most innocent looking person on the planet most times. But she gets her point across.

"Sara, I don't want to hear about any funny business from Catherine - behave yourself and take care of that leg. I'll be seeing you soon enough to get those stitches out, and I better like what I see when I do."

Her face relaxes a bit, "You can take showers and not worry about getting the wound wet. But be sure to put antibiotic ointment on it throughout the day to not only keep it from infection but to keep the skin hydrated to help it heal, okay? Keep it wrapped with fresh bandages until you see the skin starting to heal itself back together, then allow it to be open to the air."

Sara can't help but smirk at my sisters directions that are more like orders. "Yes ma'am."

I swear, if Sara fake salutes my sister, she will learn just how terrifying Nancy can be.

Thankfully, my sister only chuckles. And much to my horror, she reaches out and ruffles Sara's hair.

Sara pulls her head away, admittedly caught off guard, but she breaks into a smile and shakes her head at my sister. "Take care of yourself as well, Nancy."

Nancy nods and with a final wave is in my car and out of the driveway.

Thus leaving me and Sara entirely alone.

*************

The silence we find ourselves in now seems much more tense than it did only moments ago.

Before I can figure out a way to fill the newly awkward stillness, Sara stands and picks up the forgotten blanket. She neatly folds it before throwing it over her arm to carry inside with her. Grabbing her empty mug as well, she is through the door before I even think to offer to help her.

I finish my own tea in a large swallow. The luke-warm liquid reflects the current atmosphere quite appropriately.

With a sigh, I follow Sara inside.

I find the brunette placing her mug in Nancy's sink, and I step beside her to place mine along side of hers.

Sara remains standing at the sink, staring blankly at the wall in front of her. I am about to leave to give her some time to reflect, think, count my sister's wall tiles, whatever the heck she is doing, when I hear her tentatively address me.

"Catherine?"

I don't know why, but my heart beat picks up a pace or two. The way she said my name and refuses to look at me, it makes me feel that what she has to say is going to be important.

"Yeah, Sara?"

She starts to say something, and then I see her shut down. Her shoulders, previously slumped, become erect and almost rigid. She straightens her posture, standing to her full height. I know these physical walls are a reflection of inner walls that also just got put back into place.

Damn.

Turning to me, she shakes her head, "Never mind."

If there is one thing I hate, it is the expression 'never mind'. I will keep thinking and obsessing about what the person was going to say to me for an obscenely long period of time. However, I don't want to push Sara.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, sorry."

She looks away for a moment, and then spots something on the counter that peaks her interest. Leaning over, she grabs what must be her keys from the counter. I assume my sister left them there for her last night.

Sara seems uncomfortable as she fidgets with her keys like a nervous student chews on their pencil.

"Did you want to head into the lab? We still have an hour or so before we have to leave…" I don't know what is making Sara so anxious, but I want to give her an escape route before she implodes.

"Yeah, I was thinking I would head in early so I would have time to grab a shower in the locker room before shift. I have spare clothes and everything in my locker."

"Alright, although I'm sure Nancy wouldn't mind if you took a shower here if it makes things easier."

It's true, but I know she will decline. I have a feeling that sharing someone's shower is seen as an almost intimate intrusion on someone else's personal space by Sara.

"No, thanks though. But why don't you go ahead and take one. I can wait for you outside whenever you are ready. Take your time."

A shower does sound nice right about now.

"Alright. But you know, you can wait _inside_ the house. Watch some television, read one of Nancy's trashy romance novels that she hides behind the DVDs, make yourself at home. I'll feel better knowing you aren't sitting out in the cold waiting for me."

I have made such a habit of turning requests for Sara to take care of herself into requests about me so that she will accept that I don't even realize I'm doing it half the time.

Sara shrugs, "Okay."

And with that, she turns the corner into the living room.

*****

Finishing my shower, I shuffle back out into the kitchen to grab some bottles of water and granola bars to take with us in the car as a lame attempt at breakfast. While the shower was refreshing, it also reminded me that I have yet to get even a minute of sleep since last shift.

This is going to be a long night.

Heading into the living room, Sara is nowhere to be found. I shake my head as I step out onto the porch, knowing that out in the cold is exactly where I would find her.

Sara is leaning against the hood of her Tahoe with her eyes closed and her head leaned back. As I approach the car, she opens her eyes and subtly attempts to take a last drag on her cigarette before putting it out and opening the driver's door.

I hadn't noticed she still smoked.

Heading around to the other side, I am in the passenger seat and buckled in before Sara is finally able to get herself into the vehicle with her bad leg.

"Sara, please don't bite my head off, but do you think you should really be driving in your condition? I'm not even going to go into the fact that you shouldn't even be working tonight with an injury as bad as yours, but if I'm not mistaken a person's right leg is typically the one they use to press those handy things called pedals. You know, the things that allow you to start, and more importantly stop, the vehicle?"

I am afraid that Sara is going to be mad and see this as a challenge to her competence or her independence. Instead, she surprises me by snorting with laughter.

"Oh, is that what the pedals are for?! Damn, I've been going about this driving thing all wrong for _years_!"

I am about to tell her just what I think of her sarcasm when she continues on a serious note, "Cath, I broke my right leg when I was seventeen and I taught myself to drive with my left the next day. I drove that way for months until I got the cast off. It's really not that hard. If you are uncomfortable with it, however, then I'm willing to let you drive. I don't want you to ever question your safety with me."

To prove her point, she holds out her keys for me to take.

I feel that her last statement was referring to more than just this current situation, but now isn't the time to explore it.

I am a responsible individual when it comes to my safety, after all I am the only remaining parent Lindsey has, but I believe Sara. "I'm good with it if you are." I hold her gaze in mine. "Sara, I trust you."

I hope that she gets that my last statement is also referring to more than just this current situation.

Nodding, she puts the keys in the ignition and effortlessly pulls out of the driveway. Sara is right, she really has no problem driving with her left leg. I don't know how she does it, I would be so worried that I would get the pedals mixed up and be one of those people to accelerate their way right through a store window.

We eat our granola bars in companionable silence as we make our way to the bar to get my car, me breaking off pieces for Sara so she is able to eat while driving.

We soon arrive at the bar and I hop into my own Tahoe, following Sara out of the lot towards the lab. Traffic is light, and we both pull into our CSI parking spaces one after another. I am grabbing my bag out of my trunk when I see Sara struggle out of her Tahoe and limp her way to her own trunk. She pulls out a backpack and closes the hatch.

As we walk to the front door of the lab together, I realize this is the first time that I am seeing Sara walk any sort of distance on her injured leg. And I have to say, I do not like what I see.

At all.

It is obvious that she is in pain with every step, and her limp is quite pronounced. I get the impression that she is having trouble holding her weight on it, and I figure the pain has likely only gotten worse for her as injuries tend to save the real hurt for the days immediately following the actual insult.

I know I shouldn't, but I stop and grab Sara's arm to get her to stop as well. She immediately comes to a standstill and her arm grows tense under my fingers. Hey, at least she didn't pull away this time.

"Sara, I'm sorry, but you shouldn't be here. You can barely walk for crying out loud! You have vacation days to spare, why don't you just take it easy for awhile and return when you are feeling better? This is ridiculous."

Sara calmly replies, "You are the acting supervisor this week with Grissom out of town. Are you ordering me to stay home?"

What? I wasn't expecting that.

"No, Sara, but –"

"Then if you don't mind I would really like to stay and work. My leg just seems a lot worse than it is. Honest."

Honest my ass. I pray there comes a day when Sara trusts me enough, loves me enough, to let me see her in a moment of weakness. And more important to me, let her guard down enough in that moment to allow me to take care of her. Nothing would mean more to me than to be permitted to lift some of life's burden off the dark brunette. She has always been there for me, time and time again, and I feel almost physically uncomfortable when I think about the unbalanced tilt of our scales.

"Fine, but the others get the first cases, if I can keep you in the lab I will. You shouldn't be out in the field like this for your own wellbeing."

Her eyes grow a bit stormy, but I don't care. Someone needs to keep an eye out for her since frankly she does a damn shitty job of it herself.

"Right. For my wellbeing."

I can't really tell what she means with her reply, but I decide it is best to not even go there.

She looks purposefully at my hand that is still gripping her arm. I instantly let go of her.

We continue our walk into the lab. Sara heads straight for the locker room to shower while I head into my office to get a head start on my paperwork.

Grabbing the assignment sheets from my box, I see that we have a full night ahead of us. As much as I would love to keep Sara safely in the lab, there is no way to work it with the cases we pulled.

I can, however, be sure that Sara is paired with me for the night.

It may not be much, but I'll feel better knowing that she is okay with my own two eyes. And if she is pushing herself too hard, I'll feel better knowing that I am within striking distance of kicking her stubborn ass with my own two feet.


	6. Chapter 6

She smells like lavender.

Lavender and evergreens.

She must have had shampoo of her own in her locker, because I know darn well that the lab's shampoo does not smell nearly this good. Her hair is mostly dry despite the cool temperatures, and the last remaining strands are starting to curl into loose waves. It looks good on her. Then again, she could be wearing a paper bag on her head and it would look good on her.

I'm glad that our earlier tiff seems to have blown over for the most part, as we are sitting comfortably in my Tahoe on the way to our desert scene. She is looking out the window intently, drumming her fingers along to a song only she can hear.

I'm reluctant to break the moment, but gesturing to the cup holder I tell her, "I brought you a coffee, if you want it."

Hers is sitting right next to mine, already half consumed during the short minutes I waited for her to finish her shower. "I figured I'd go for the deluxe size, seeing as how I'm running on zippo sleep, and I'm sure you're not doing much better."

Looking over, she sends me a gentle smile and a warm "Thanks."

We are about halfway to our scene, each drinking our coffees between our various conversation topics. She asks me a lot about my sister, probably wanting to get to know the woman who she shared such a memorable night with.

Wow, that didn't sound right at all.

I feel bad that she is mostly the one asking questions - about my sister, about Montana growing up, about Lindsey. If I'm honest with myself, it's because I don't know where to even begin asking her questions. I don't know if she has any siblings, I don't know if her parents are still alive, I don't even know where in California she is from.

I am about to pick one of these potentially awkward topics to broach with her when she suddenly goes pale, gripping her door handle like she is about to throw herself from the moving vehicle. I have a brief moment where I wonder if she heard my thoughts and is panicking at the idea of personal questions.

Then I realize that this isn't the world of science fiction where people read minds and liquefy each other with ray guns.

I don't have time to give it any more thought or even ask her if she is okay before she unbuckles herself and demands with a shaky voice, "Catherine, stop the car."

I am too stunned to act right away. She whips her head towards me, desperation in her eyes. "Catherine, please, please stop the car."

She doesn't have to say anything more, the look in her eyes was enough to send my foot slamming down on the brake pedal. Sara ignores the fact that I just sent her careening into the dash and throws open her door. She staggers away from the car and leans down into the sandy brush along this deserted stretch of road.

I can hear the sounds of her throwing up from where I am sitting.

"Oh, Sara," I mutter as I get out of the car and hesitantly approach her. Anyone else and I would be at their side, rubbing circles on their back without hesitation. With Sara, I don't want to overstep my bounds or push her away by invading her space. I don't want to burn any bridges until I'm safely on the other side.

But when I hear that her throwing up has turned into dry heaves and she is unable to stop her body's attempt to throw up her organs as an encore, I quickly make my way to her.

I am glad that she does not try to pull away from me, but from the way her body is violently heaving, I figure she really has no choice in the matter anyway. But still, I take it as another small victory.

I rub her back gently, trying to tell her it's going to be okay in a calm voice. After what seems to be an eternity, her body stops heaving – leaving her pale and fatigued.

Shifting off her heals to sit in the sand, she wraps her arms around her legs and literally growls in frustration. "Damn it!"

I sit behind her, situating myself so that she is supported between my legs. I throw all care to the wind and I wrap my arms around her slumped shoulders.

I am surprised, but oh so pleasantly surprised, when I feel her lean back into me for support.

"What happened, Sar? Where you not feeling well this morning?" I ask gently, running my fingers through her soft hair. I'm afraid to voice what my true concerns are, that this is some sort of symptom of her ordeal last night and that she is getting worse instead of getting better.

"I think you know quite well what just happened, Catherine," she says in a dark voice.

Wait, what? What is she talking about?

"Huh?" My fingers still their motion.

"You finally had enough of me. Decided with Grissom gone it would be the perfect time to get me alone out here on this deserted road with you. Alone with you and your 'coffee' that you so nicely provided for me."

She waits a beat, and I feel like I am a character in some play that I did not audition for.

Then, she says something that makes my soul recess into the shadows of my being.

"What the fuck did you put in my coffee, Catherine?"

I am so horrified that she would even _consider_ that I had done such a thing that I physically push away from her and stand. I look into her eyes, feeling angry and afraid. What kind of person does she think I am?! There is no way she will ever feel anything remotely close to what I feel for her if this is how she sees me!

I am about to send myself on a one way trip to Aneurism Land when the look on Sara's face finally registers with me. She is trying to keep a straight face, but the glint in her eyes gives her completely away.

"You are such an ass, Sara Sidle, you know that?!"

I halfheartedly kick some sand towards her with my shoe, not caring one bit if it gets in her eyes. Serves her right.

Sara simply smiles, this time adding a quiet laugh, and gets to her feet. She brushes sand off her jeans, and some from her hair, complements of me.

"I'm sorry, Catherine, it was too easy."

She looks at me with warm eyes and I can no longer find it in me to be mad at her. "Plus, if you were going to kill me, I would trust you to come up with something much more creative then poisoning my coffee."

"Well, gee, thanks Sara. That's touching." I try to sound pissed, but I'm sure she can see right through my facade.

"You're most welcome. You ready to go?"

The look on her face is hopeful. She is hoping I'm going to simply say yes and drop the whole thing about her puking her guts out only seconds ago.

Oh, Sara, you have a lot to learn.

"No, not quite."

I approach her, and with every step I take her head bows lower and lower. She knows she's in trouble.

I stand in front of her, and raise her chin gently with my hand until she is facing me. She still averts her eyes, however.

"Sara, what is going on with you?" I ask as I rub her cheek gently with my thumb.

And that's it, the trigger that sends her guard back up, her walls flying into position. I literally feel her stiffen under my touch, and she pulls her head out of my grasp and turns away from me.

"There is nothing 'going on', Catherine. Let's not be all dramatic and just get to the scene before the body starts rotting."

"The dead can wait."

She turns to me, hearing her own words she used ages ago with Jim recited back to her. She probably is wondering how I even knew about them.

She sighs, and pulls at the threads on her CSI vest. "Look, I took some stuff for the pain in my leg before I left. I think it just upset my stomach a little. It's really not a big deal. And I feel tons better now, so can we please go?"

I feel like I am talking to one of the plants in my office. Except my plants are much more receptive.

"Sara, what did you take?"

She is getting irritated, I can tell. But I don't care.

Looking up at me with a coldness in her eyes that I have not seen in a long time, she practically growls, "Who do you think you are? This is none of your business. Stop trying to be my mother."

Her words hurt, but I know she is just trying to piss me off so that I drop it and give her the silent treatment instead.

The exact dance we perfected long ago and made into our very own ballet.

It's not going to work anymore, things are going to be different.

"Sara, I like to think of you as a friend. I'm not trying to be your mother, trust me. But as your friend, I care about you. And I want, I need, to make sure that you are okay. Please?" I can tell that my calm and gentle response was not what she was expecting. "Please, Sara, just tell me what you took."

She looks up and meets my eyes with determination. Knowing that she isn't going to be able to avoid the situation, she is going to take it on full force. There's my girl.

"Tylenol."

Tylenol, really?

"Sara, when I take Tylenol it usually doesn't send me puking in the bushes. Not even Lindsey for crying out loud."

I don't want to accuse her of lying, because if there is one thing Sara is not, it's a liar.

I am about to push the issue further when it dawns on me.

Oh my God.

"How many did you take, Sara?"

She instantly looks away and I know I've hit the issue on the head.

Stepping forward, I orient myself so I am again right in her face.

"How many?" I say in the sternest voice I can muster. She knows I'm not messing around.

"Eitfht."

"What was that?"

She sighs, again looking me straight in the eyes. "Eight."

"Eight?! Please tell me they were the children's version or reduced strength or something!"

She almost laughs, and shakes her head. She's in the dog house and has decided to simply throw up her heels and enjoy the stay.

"Nope, I think they were extra strength, actually." She shrugs and I swear I could kill her.

"Sara…Sidle!" I have to pause since I don't know her middle name to insert it and chastise her fully. "What in the hell were you thinking? Eight extra strength pills?!"

"Cath, it's really not that big of a deal. There is a six pill limit on a day, right? So I figured I would just take them all at once. Oh, and I added a couple just for good measure."

"Wow, they taught some fucked up logical reasoning classes at Harvard."

She snorts, "Look, Catherine, as we established, it isn't your job to take care of me. I learned my lesson, trust me. It's really not that big of a deal. It's not like I chugged the whole bottle or anything." Her hazel eyes are alight with genuine confusion.

I can't believe her. "Yes, Sara, thank you for not taking forty-eight pills instead of eight. You are very thoughtful." We aren't getting anywhere. She refuses to see why anyone else would be concerned with her reckless behavior. I decide to try a different angle.

"Sara, this proves to me that your leg is hurting you. You shouldn't be here, you should be home taking care of yourself. Hell, you should be at my home letting me take care of you."

I can't believe I said the second part out loud. From the look on her face, she can't either.

I continue, trying to ignore my outburst. "I'm sure that Nancy could get you something stronger than Tylenol for the pain. Something you would only have to take ONE or TWO pills of…"

She shakes her head and starts limping towards the car.

"Nope, and please don't ever offer that to me again."

I don't understand.

"Sara, it would help! You shouldn't have to be in pain, and you shouldn't have to be resorting to half a bottle of Tylenol to try to make it better! Are you really that stubborn?!" I yell after her, my feet rooted in place.

She stops moving, but keeps her back to me.

"I am stubborn. But not in the way you think."

I shake my head in confusion, even though she can't see me.

"Sara, I don't understand. Please, help me understand."

She is quiet, but the pleading in my voice has shaken her resolve.

"I'm stubborn in that I would like to remain clean."

Clean?

She gives me a minute to figure it out.

Ohhhhh, _that_ type of clean.

"How long ago?"

She still won't face me, and her shoulders seem to have dropped a bit under the weight of the conversation we are about to have.

"Five years. I quit right before I came to Vegas." She shakes her head. "I was never truly 'addicted' to painkillers, but I did rely on them to help me stay numb. To stop the _thoughts _after every case that would keep me up, the voices of the victims pleading me for vindication. I knew I could stop taking them at any time, and I did when I moved out here because I felt I had to. But I didn't _want_ to stop. And that's what I'm afraid of."

She digs her left foot into the sand almost distractedly, the wind dancing through her hair. "They say you never really change until you, yourself, want to change. I stopped and I don't ever want to go back, but I'm always afraid of that one important step that I skipped along the way."

She finally turns to look at me. "So no, if you don't mind, I'm going to stick with the Tylenol."

It's glaringly obvious that I have so much to learn about Sara. That there are so many aspects of her yet to explore and be uncovered.

And I know how deeply I care for her when a revelation like this causes me no hesitance. I am only filled with gratitude that she was willing to open up to me, and respect for the path she chose to take over the one she left behind. And after all, I can't justify judging someone for the recreational use of drugs. Not with my past.

When I pull myself into the driver's seat and sit aside Sara moments later, I am a bit anxious about the uneasiness that is likely to permeate the car the rest of the way. I stare out into the vast desert and insert the keys with a sigh.

Just then, Sara turns to me with a grin lighting up her face. "Oh, and by the way, my middle name is Caelum in case you feel the urge to scold me again any time in the near future." Her grin grows wider and she winks at me, "This way you can do it properly."

And with that, all awkwardness is forgotten as I find myself smiling, and laughing, right along with her as I put the car into gear to finish our trip to the scene.

Oh, so much to learn indeed.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N**: **Sorry this update has taken a bit longer, finals are coming up and I have about 8.3 minutes every day to myself. And I usually use those to shower :o) But, I have forced myself to take a moment for myself, and here is the next chapter. After this one, things are going to get a bit…stressful?...for our favorite characters. **

**The next update should be coming soon.**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

Typical of my luck as of late, our scene is quite possibly the worst scene I could have picked for Sara to process. We arrive at what I thought would be an isolated desert scene, but instead turns out to be a cave system.

A fucking cave system.

If it wasn't so far out in God forsaken nowhere, I would have called one of the guys in to switch with Sara. As it is, we are going to have to work each one of these caves to check for evidence.

To top it all off, Sara has this shit-eating grin on her face. I swear she knows exactly what I was trying to do by assigning her with myself, and she is greatly enjoying watching my attempt to coddle her explode in my face.

"So, boss, which cave would you like me to climb through with my severed thigh first?" Her smile is now ear to ear.

I glare, all I can do is glare.

"Catherine," she says in a mock scolding voice at my lack of response, the sun glinting off her hazel eyes, "I suggest we get started. I mean, there have got to be, what, seven caves out here? It could take us _hours_ to work our way through all of these, _days_ even. This is going to be a very physically taxing scene to process, we shouldn't waste time."

She pats me on the shoulder with a fake sympathetic look and snorts as she makes her way over to the first cave.

I could kill her, if only I didn't love her so damn much.

Instead, I shake my head and start to process the scene as well. At least she had the good grace to leave me the body to process at the mouth of the second cave. There's something about the thought of caves and bats fluttering through my hair that makes me want to turn into a screeching little girl. I decide I'll put off actually having to enter a cave until the last possible moment.

Sara, on the other hand, can't seem to get into the caves fast enough. I don't know what intrigues her more, the idea of spelunking or getting out from under my overprotective watch.

Either way, she is going to pay for this later.

In the hours it takes me to process the body and the surrounding area under the vibrant desert sun, Sara has made it into the fifth cave. Not bad for someone hobbling around as badly as she is. I decide to face the music and start at the last cave, working my way back towards Sara.

The caves really aren't that bad. They thankfully seem to contain only one large room each, without any off shooting crawlspaces to have to traverse. I'll have to sacrifice some sort of doo-dad to the gods of fate later for this small turn of good fortune.

They sure are cold as the dickens, though.

Finishing quickly with my cave when it becomes evident that no one has been in here since the Lincoln administration, I meet Sara as she is entering the sixth.

"There really hasn't been much evidence in any of these, Cath. There was some residue on the floor of the third, so I took a sample, but it's probably just salt or something from the cave wall. I don't think the killer even went in any of these." Her voice echoes through the cavern.

She works her way to the back of the cave and begins shining her flashlight around.

"I stand corrected," she mumbles a few minutes later. Having finished with my half of the cave, I head over to help her. She is pulling what appears to be a large chunk of rock out of the back wall. Once removed, the space reveals a set of very bloody clothing.

With a smile, Sara photographs the clothing and then carefully places it in an evidence bag. I love watching Sara's face light up on cases when she catches a lead on the killer.

We are just about to leave the dark, dank cave when I hear a shuffling noise coming from above us. Apparently Sara heard it too as she has positioned herself in front of me, gun drawn. Pulling my own gun, I shine my light upwards.

Instantly, there is a rush of motion as a large, black blob seems to descend straight at us. I am about to reflexively pull the trigger of my weapon when I feel myself tackled to the ground, Sara laying over me.

As I hear the screeching and flapping chaos that follows, I realize that I almost just shot my gun at a bunch of bats. Ecklie would have had a field day when he got that 'firearm engaged' report on his desk.

Sara lets out an "ooof" above me as it sounds like a couple of the bats have decided to acquaint themselves with her body. Poor girl. At least she isn't screeching, though.

When the bat storm seems to be over, she carefully lifts herself off of me and extends her hand to help me up.

Taking it, I stifle a laugh as I see her hair is all disheveled and has bits and pieces of debris all in it. I reach out to help her after she halfheartedly attempts to push the wayward strands back into place.

As I pull out what seems to be the last of the dirt, I carefully tuck her hair behind her ears, smoothing it down as I go.

I look into her eyes right before I pull my hands away, and I instantly stop my motion.

Sara's expression is remarkably serious, her body perfectly still as she watches me with an unspeakable intensity.

When she finally realizes I have long finished pulling debris out of her hair, she snaps out of her haze.

"Thanks."

Patting her on the shoulder, I say, "No, Sara, thank _you_. You have no idea how ugly this would have gotten if those bats had come anywhere close to me. I think PITA would have torched my house when news got out that I shot the heads off of 20-something bats, in their own cave no less."

She laughs, but it cuts short as she bends down to pick up her kit. After hours of processing this scene, I can only imagine the pain she must be in. Especially since she threw up the Tylenol earlier, and is now running on essentially no pain killers at all.

She looks at me after she has gotten her kit and thrown it over her shoulder.

Once again, we seem almost entranced somehow, staring at one another as if the answer to the meaning of life lies in the other person's eyes.

I can't help but shiver, both from the force of Sara's gaze as well as the significantly cooler temperature of the cave now that the sun has begun to set.

"You alright, Catherine?" I can see the white puffs of Sara's breath as she speaks in the light of my flashlight.

Something about this moment seems so intimate, I don't want it to be over.

Then Sara lays her hand softly on my shoulder, effectively breaking my thoughts.

"Catherine?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine, sorry. Just a bit cold is all."

Sara looks at me for a moment and nods her head, seeming to accept my answer. I am confused when she hands me her kit in response.

Taking it from her, I watch as she pulls off her sweatshirt from under her CSI vest and hands it to me, taking her kit back in her other hand - this time slinging it over a t-shirt clad shoulder.

I am touched by her gesture, and I pull it over my head even as I protest, "Sara, it's freezing out here, and we still have the perimeter to process." The sweatshirt is warm, and most importantly, it smells like Sara.

"I'm fine, the air feels good."

She starts to limp her way out of the cave when I grab her arm and turn her to face me.

"Thank you, Sara."

She smiles and shrugs. "You're welcome."

************

The perimeter mercifully does not take more than an hour. The coroner has long since come and gone, leaving us free to go after we pack up. Sara has already headed back to the car, and I just finished placing the last pieces of evidence in my kit.

The sun is now fully set, leaving the moon to cast its ethereal glow across this isolated desert. It's a clear night, and I see Sara leaning on the trunk of my Tahoe, staring up at the night sky. I can see her shivering with the cold, but rather than waiting in the car for me, she seems completely enthralled with the stars. I would bet good money that she doesn't even feel the low temperatures right now.

Somehow I sense that I am getting a glimpse of a younger Sara, before the weight of the job and the oppression of the Vegas lights made things like stargazing a rarity in her world.

I heave my kit into the trunk, and I don't know whether to get in the car or stay outside and wait – I'm afraid to interrupt this moment for her. I rarely see Sara so at peace.

Before I can come to a decision, Sara, still looking up at the sky, asks, "Do you know why my middle name is Caelum?"

I take this as an invitation to join her, and I lean against the trunk alongside her.

I use the coldness as an excuse to invade her personal space, and I am pleased when she lets me lean into her a bit. "No, I assumed it was a family name."

Shaking her head, she tells me, "My parents named me after the Caelum constellation." She takes my hand and points my finger towards the sky in the west. "It's that one right there."

I take a moment to absorb the splendor I am seeing displayed above me. "It's beautiful, Sara."

And then I am no longer looking at the stars, I'm looking straight at her. "It suits you."

My words, the meaning of my words, registers with her and she looks down at me in confusion. I don't know if it's the compliment in general that throws her, or that type of compliment coming from me. Either way, she seems at a loss, and simply looks back up at the sky.

After a moment or two, she sighs. "You ready to head back?"

I nod, and as I turn to head into to the car, I realize for the first time that Sara is still holding my hand in hers. We break contact, and I can tell by her embarrassment she hadn't noticed she was still holding my hand either.

It felt so right, so natural, in that moment that neither of us saw it as out of place. There was no awkwardness, no pretenses, just an effortless occurrence of shared human experience.

It was such a short time spent together, and at the scene of a gruesome murder no less. But as the tires of the Tahoe begin across the rough gravel, I realize those last minutes spent with Sara looking at the stars were some of the best minutes I have had in a very long time.

It's amazing how a woman as complex as Sara Sidle can fill my world with such serenity.

I smile and watch the stars through the window as we race through the desert, knowing that if nothing else, I will always have this memory to enfold myself in every time I look up at the night sky.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Hello all! Hope life is treating you well. You guys all still hanging in there with this story? Hope you are enjoying it and I haven't disappointed. I have decided to take the advice of one particular reader and put my 8.3 minutes to better use and update my story instead of showering. A girl can't be too greedy and want to pass all her classes, complete all her clinicals, update her story, AND have clean hair. **

**But honestly, without sounding like a sap, somehow during this hectic and stressful time, posting up here helps bring a little glimpse of enjoyment back into things. And I have you guys and your kind words after each chapter to thank for that. **

**Without further ado, this chapter is sort of the beginning of where things start to turn a bit, and key things start to happen. In fact, there may be more than meets the eye with this chapter…dun dun dun. Hope you are all interested in taking the ride with me. **

**Enjoy! **

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Returning to the lab, Sara and I decided our best bet for getting any usable results before the rapidly approaching end of shift would be to split up. She was headed to the layout room to start analyzing the bloody clothing she found while I was to drop off our various samples and see Doc Robbins about the body.

After all was said and done, I checked in with Sara, letting her know that I had some administrative things to take care of, and then I would join her in the layout room to go over any new evidence and pack up for the night.

Sitting in my office, I am now filling out the copious amounts of paperwork that had collected since this morning. I used to hound Gil about getting these things completed in a timely fashion, but now I fully understand his reluctance. Hell, I'm half tempted to let them pile up until they crush me to death. At least that way I'll never have to look at another darn form ever again.

Finally reaching the case reports Nick and Warrick left for me, I am signing my name along the bottom when I catch a glimpse of the clock on my desk.

Placing the now complete files in my outbox, I sigh and decide to join Sara before her already extensive amount of overtime accumulates even more due to the late hour.

We should have clocked out an hour and a half ago.

Grabbing the reports I picked up from Trace and DNA, I turn to join Sara when I catch a glimpse of her through my window. Sara was working in the lab across from my office for convenience, and I could clearly see her through the lab's glass walls.

Something isn't right.

I cannot explain what got my senses on edge, after all she is simply standing at the layout table with her back to me, but something about her posture makes me pause. Perhaps it is because it is the same exact posture she has had throughout the last hour when I would occasionally glance at her while completing my paperwork.

Now that I am looking closer, I can see that her hands are gripping the table in a death hold. When I realize that she is shaking, I find myself running across the hall and into the lab without another thought.

Coming to a stop at her side, I see her eyes are clenched tightly shut and she has a thin sheen of sweat covering her face and arms.

I know she heard me enter the room, you'd have to be deaf to have missed my unlady-like entrance, but she has yet to acknowledge my presence, or even move a muscle for that matter.

"Sara! What's wrong?" My voice sounds panicked even to my own ears, but at this point I don't care – I am desperate to figure out what is going on with the brunette who hours ago seemed relatively fine.

Finally breaking out of her stone position, she shakes her head slightly back and forth. She does not say or do anything else, and at this point I am concerned that I should be calling someone for some sort of help.

"Sara, you are really starting to scare me."

Again, she shakes her head in response. Her trembling has increased in intensity to the point where she almost looks like she is having a seizure. Seeing that the shaking is the worst in her legs, I try to encourage her to at least sit down before she collapses.

Finally speaking for the first time, Sara mutters something under her breath.

"What, Sar? I can't hear you. Please, hon, let me help you. Let's get you sitting down."

This time she speaks louder. "I can't."

"What do you mean you can't?"

Her pale cheeks begin to color a bit red, and I can tell that she is irritated. Not caring if the anger is directed towards me or herself, I push the issue.

"Sara, come on, there is a stool right next to you, let's get you seated."

Finally, she looks at me, and the pain and desperation in her eyes are enough to make me unconsciously take a step away from her.

"Cath, I can't move." Seeing my confusion, she pleads for my understanding, "I cannot move my leg, Cath. I can't make it to the stool."

Then it all makes sense, her stiff posture, her muscles shaking with exhaustion from holding herself up for so long, the death grip she has on the table to keep her from crumbling to the ground.

"I'm sorry, Catherine. I was processing the evidence when my leg locked up, I tried to get to the stool, but when I try to move it, it cramps up on me and I couldn't take it anymore, I eventually just stopped trying…"

She seems in a panic to explain herself to me, perhaps interpreting my current silence as anger with her for pushing herself too hard.

Finally snapping out of my haze, I quickly rush to her side and tightly wrap an arm around her waist in order to support as much of her weight as possible.

"Shh, sweetie, it's fine, I'm not mad at you."

As I take one of her arms and practically pry it off the table in order to place it around my neck, she groans in pain through clenched teeth. Hearing her agony, I nearly lose it.

Holding her body tightly against mine, I try to move her towards the stool, cursing the fact that she was working in the one lab were the stools are bolted into position around the layout table.

As soon as I have moved her mere centimeters, Sara's body jerks and she begs, "Cath, stop! Please, stop!"

I have never seen Sara so upset and it is breaking my heart. For her to be showing this much pain, I cannot fathom what she must be experiencing. I can tell that she is trying so hard to be strong, but her desire to make the misery end is winning over her pride right now.

"Sara, I am so sorry, but we need to get you off your feet. You need to get all weight off your leg to get the muscle to relax. Please, trust me?"

Looking at me as best she can despite the awkward angle, she slowly nods her head.

Without further ado, I make sure her arm around my neck is secure and I lean down and lift her with my other arm under her knees. She growls with pain into my neck as I have her thin body cradled in my arms.

Wasting no time, I carry her across the hall and into my office.

I carefully lay her down on my couch as I crawl in behind her back so that she is lying between my legs, her head on my shoulder. I wrap my arms tightly around her as she continues to shake, whispering soothing words into her hair. She has her head turned away from me, buried in the back of the couch.

I hear her mumble an "I'm sorry" into the cushions, and I respond by holding her tighter and placing a soft kiss to the top of her head.

"Sara, you have _nothing_ to be sorry about."

I swear, she is the only person I know that apologizes when they are hurt.

She grunts in response, and she continues to tremble violently in my arms.

"Try to relax, honey."

After awhile, I can feel her body lose some of its rigidity, and her head grows heavier on my shoulder. I can tell that she is trying to fight sleep, fight the exhaustion permeating her body now that her leg is beginning to settle itself down.

If she is feeling anything like me, it is going to be a losing battle.

I didn't plan on spending my night sleeping in my office, but I don't want to risk hurting Sara any more by forcing her to trek anywhere farther than this couch.

Exhaustion and guilt are running rampant through me as I watch the soft blue light of the lab mix with the warm hues of my office. I knew that today would be too much for Sara, and despite my best intentions to keep her safe, her injury finally let its limits be known.

Even as I am plagued with feelings of remorse, I realize that I am still wearing Sara's sweatshirt and I can't help but smile at the brief moments of connection I had today with her. Moments that I have waited so long to be trusted enough by the brunette to be given access to, moments that I would not trade for the world.

And, alright, if I'm being completely honest, laying here with the strong, mysterious, self-reliant Sara Sidle in my arms is something I have long dreamed about. And let me tell you, the dreams did not do it justice.

I sigh as I run my hand soothingly across her abdomen.

I feel selfish.

Sara is lying here in discomfort while I am secretly savoring the moment, feeling fortunate to be able to hold her in my protective embrace - if only for this one night.

With my chin resting comfortably atop her soft hair, I feel myself surrendering to the strong pull of slumber.

* * *

I'm cold.

There's a blanket on me, but I'm cold.

Cold, and alone.

Wait, I'm alone?

Fuck.

Bolting upright, the night's events immediately flood my consciousness. I instantly notice the problem with this situation.

Instead of having Sara lying atop me, I have a blanket. A blanket that wasn't there when I went to sleep, a blanket that I recognize having come from the break room.

Standing up and throwing the blanket onto the couch behind me, I take note of the time.

3:13 am.

It was a little after 2:00am when I brought Sara into my office, falling asleep shortly after. Nearly an hour later and Sara is gone.

I should have fucking known.

Just as I am about to pull out my cell and call her obstinate ass, my sister comes walking through my office door.

Now I am worried.

My sister rarely visits me at work, something about choosing to stay away from buildings that refrigerate corpses in the basement. I pointed out to her once that hospitals also have morgues, but that situation did not quite pan out as I had intended, so we agreed to meet on the PD side of the building when she came by to visit.

My fear is slightly relieved when she smiles at me warmly, blond hair falling across her flushed cheeks.

"Hey sis, I heard you had a rough shift?"

"Yeah, long day."

Running a hand through my hair to help focus my weary brain, I knit my brows in confusion. "Wait, how did you hear about my shift?"

Leaning on my desk she shrugs and states, "Oh, Sara called me."

"What? Sara was with me," I tell her, my confusion evident.

Still not seeing the problem, Nancy shrugs again. "I don't know, Cath. All I know is she called me about 15 minutes ago from your phone. I was on my way home from work, right by the lab actually. She told me you had a really long shift today, and that on top of the zero sleep you got after last shift, you were exhausted. She told me she had to head out to a scene and that she didn't want to leave you passed out on the couch in your office. She asked if I would be able to stop by and get you home for the night so you could finally have some much needed rest."

My sister smiles coyly and sends me a wink, "It was nice of her to call."

My sister thinks this is good news, a sign that my care for Sara is not unreciprocated.

Little does she know, Sara just played her like a fucking banjo.

Growling in frustration, I half heartedly kick my desk, causing Nancy to jump. "Damn you, Sara!"

My sister's smile disappears immediately. "Cath?"

"Yeah, I had a long shift. But what Sara neglected to mention to you is the reason _why_ I was sleeping on the couch. Namely, the fact that she nearly passed out from pain earlier because she had to spend all night on her feet."

My voice is shaking with anger at this point.

"I had to _carry_ her into my office, Nance. Her leg had cramped up on her and she couldn't move at all. She was shaking so bad I was afraid she was having a seizure."

My sister has turned away from me, and I can tell that she is livid.

"So yeah, it was really nice of Sara to think of me and concern herself with my wellbeing," I spit sarcastically.

"Where is she?" Nancy is trying hard to control her anger.

"I have no fucking clue. She told you she was headed to a scene?" I can't believe this. "First, I am the acting supervisor, so all assignments should have come through me. Second, I can only imagine how even _more_ walking is going to help Sara improve her situation."

Nancy turns away from me again.

"I don't know what to do, Nancy. Do we try to find her? Or do we just let her stubborn ass self-destruct?"

I already know the answer of what I am going to be doing. Looks like another long night.

"Cat," turning around, Nancy hands me a folded piece of paper off my desk along with my cell phone that Sara must have left there after using it to call my sister. I'm a bit disturbed that she pulled it out of my pocket while I was sleeping and I didn't feel a thing.

My name is scrawled across the front in Sara's handwriting – it's unruly, but curiously controlled, just like her.

Opening the paper, I read silently.

_Catherine,_

_I'm sorry I left without waking you. Brass paged me, seems your pager was off. He told me he found something at his scene that connected back to our vic. It seemed important, so I told him I would meet him there. _

_I know you are likely upset with me, but please know that I am fine. I promise to only pick up the evidence and drop it off at the lab before I head home for the night to get some rest. _

_I know you are lead on this case, and I am sorry for not telling you. Please understand it was only because you have had a rough couple of days and I hated the thought of waking you. Sorry also for calling Nancy, but I didn't want to leave you to sleep in the lab alone for the night. _

_Take care and I'll see you tomorrow,_

_S _

_P.S. Thanks, for earlier. _

Sighing, I throw Sara's note back onto my desk. My hand immediately goes to my waist and I pull my pager off my belt. My low battery light greets me, blinking away so joyously that I am sure it is mocking me.

"So?" My sister is anxious to find out what Sara had to say for herself.

"She's with Brass. There was a break in the case and my pager was dead." She can tell I am kicking myself for overlooking something as simple as changing my pager batteries. Still, she should have for once put her health first and woken me.

I turn to Nancy with exhaustion and defeat lacing my words. "She is headed home straight after the scene to get some sleep, so I suggest we do the same."

My sister nods, and I can tell she is still extremely upset with Sara and her hasty behavior. Hell, I'm still debating showing up at her house just to handcuff her to her bed when she arrives to ensure she makes good on her promise to rest.

Sara thinks she is doing me a favor by taking the scene herself, little does she know that all this does is cause me concern and ensures that my brain will be too worked up to rest for quite some time. Looks like another night of furthering my analysis of my neighborhood from my bedroom window. Currently, I have assessed there are 13 streetlights within sight, 22 houses, 17 houses which are ranch style, 5 houses which have two stories, 19 houses have two-car garages, 3 houses have single-car garages, 16 of the houses usually have at least one car parked in their driveway after midnight, 5 houses have front porches, but only 2 of those keep furniture out on their porch in which to sit, 7 houses have automated sprinkler systems, 3 of the systems activate and run for one hour while the other 4 activate twice and run for 45 minutes during each activation period – I could go on for days.

Perhaps tonight I will learn the average number of flowers each house has planted on their property. Imagine my thrill at the mere idea of it.

Taking her keys out of her pocket, Nancy squeezes my shoulder in support with her free hand as we walk out of the lab together to head home for the night.

After hugging goodbye, and Nancy making sure I am awake enough to get myself home in one piece, I sit myself stiffly in my car. Just as I am about to close my door, I hear Nancy call out to me from her car parked next to mine.

"Catherine, do me a favor?"

I nod, "Of course."

"Tell Sara when you see her tomorrow that I expect her at my house after her shift."

I smile, "You bet."

Sara better pray for some sort of divine intervention between now and then, she has no idea what she is in for.


	9. Chapter 9

Nancy POV

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Pulling into my driveway, I see a form sitting in the light of the setting sun on the steps of my porch. At least Sara had enough reason in her stubborn head to take me seriously and show up at my house as I requested.

Checking in with my sister during her shift today, I was extremely disturbed to hear that Sara was acting distant, barely even looking at Catherine all night and refusing to speak to her unless she was spoken to first.

Sara was downright cold to my sister, essentially treating her like crap all shift. Despite the apologetic letter she left my sister, she didn't give any inclination that she felt remotely sorry at all.

Catherine didn't come out directly and say it, but I could tell that she was quite hurt by Sara's indifference towards her. I think the last day or so had given her hope that she and Sara were finally moving forward and developing a friendship of sorts.

But today, Sara's behavior ripped that hope away from her.

Catherine is now spending her time raking her brain for what she may have done to turn Sara against her all of a sudden. And adding to my frustration, I could tell my sister hadn't gotten any sleep. Again.

Locking my car, I stop in front of Sara.

"Been waiting long?"

She can probably tell from my tone that I could really care less if she had been sitting out here all day.

"No."

Judging from the number of cigarette butts I see smothered in the dirt around my porch she has indeed been waiting here awhile, but I know she is too proud to admit that I had inconvenienced her in any way.

Playing along, I reply with an empty, "Good."

Unlocking my front door, I step inside, leaving the door open behind me. That's all the invitation I can manage to offer Sara in my current state of mind.

Taking the hint, Sara silently follows me in and shuts the door behind her. She crosses her arms and refuses to step any further into my house than the doorway.

Fine.

Tossing my keys none too gently onto my counter, I turn to Sara.

"What the hell were you thinking?"

Silence.

"That wasn't a rhetorical question, Sara."

"I don't know what you want me to say, Nancy." Her expression is blank, giving nothing away.

"I want you to say what it is that made you think it was okay to do that to my sister. Hell, what made you think you could use me in that way. Do you know she stayed up all night worrying about you? Hoping you were safe at home like you promised?"

I can see her resolve break a bit. I'm sure she didn't mean to cause my sister any harm, but I'm not letting her off the hook just yet.

I had originally planned on giving her an earful about the harm she could have caused herself, pushing herself much too hard for an injury as serious as hers. But right now, I want to understand what has her personality doing a complete switch on my sister.

"It was stupid Sara, it was stupid and incredibly selfish. You could have waited until next shift or had someone else bring the evidence, I'm sure. Instead, you left my already exhausted sister to worry about you all night. Was it worth it?"

Finally, she looks away from me.

"Sara, was it fucking worth it?"

My voice is hard, diluted with anger.

She looks up again.

"Was it fucking _worth it, _Sara?"

"Yes."

Her face is unreadable, her expression cold. I am not close enough to her to see her eyes. I need to see her eyes.

Stepping closer, she backs away from me until she hits my closed door with her back.

Her face is still cold as stone when I finally get close enough to look into her eyes.

She's not lying.

In her mind, it was worth it. I thought I knew Sara better than this, I thought she would never consider putting timely evidence retrieval before the wellbeing of my sister. Before the wellbeing of herself, yes, but I didn't expect her to have left Catherine like that.

I don't get it.

"Are you purposely trying to push everyone away, Sara?"

She's thrown for a second with my seemingly off base question. But I have a hunch, and I am going to follow it.

"You think you can treat my sister like shit now, ignore her all shift, use me in your little ploys, shut everyone out? So maybe you'll make us so pissed at you that we don't bother to find out what is really going on?"

I have no clue what is really going on, I'll have you know, but there is no way I'm letting Sara onto that little fact.

Her eyes narrow, she is trying to read me, figure out what I know and what my angle is.

It's enough to let me know that this situation isn't as straightforward as it seems, it isn't simply about some ill-planned decision to retrieve some evidence.

She remains silent, likely figuring her best shot in this situation is to participate as least as possible.

Time for tactic number two.

"Fuck you, Sara. I guess you really are the cold hearted bitch you are trying so hard to portray yourself to be."

She doesn't even flinch under my harsh words.

"Yes, Nancy, I am."

And with that, she reaches for the door handle.

I am much quicker, however, and I slam my foot into the door, successfully keeping it shut. What's more, I use Sara's aversion to human contact against her. I reach out towards her, and as predicted, she jerks away from my reach, effectively reversing our positions.

I hate that I used her fear of contact against her, but at this point I am desperate for answers as to her behavior towards Catherine. And I refuse to let her leave until I get some.

"So what is it, Sara? My sister mistreated you for years, and now you finally decided it's time for a little payback?"

She is silent, and has turned away from me, staring into the abyss of my dark home.

"Figure you would lead her on with all this fake 'I want to work on our friendship' crap so the hurt would be all the better when you twist in the knife?"

She still has her back to me, but she angles her head in my direction. "What is all this about, Nancy? You really can't be this upset about me taking off to get some evidence."

My goal of trying to piss her off so much that she breaks really does not seem to be working out quite so well. Sara is remarkably stoic, I'll give her that.

"Do you care about my sister?"

She angles her head away from me again.

"Yes."

"Then why did you really take off last night? And don't give me any of this bullshit about the evidence. We both know that's not what this was about."

She is still silent, and I have only one card left to play. The one card that I would never under any normal circumstances use.

"Sara, you owe me."

She whirls around, and I can tell she feels instantly betrayed. She quickly clamps down on her emotions, however, and her face contorts to an expression of indifference.

I would never, ever, use my assistance to Sara when she was hurt to gain something from her. But at this point, it's the only thing I can think of left to use. I can't explain it, but I feel like there is something very important under the surface of Sara's harsh behavior as of late.

Her eyes become distant, and I can tell that I just burned any sort of bridge of trust I had gained with Sara. I am regretting my decision when she finally speaks.

"She told me she loved me."

I am silent, even my thoughts are without a voice.

"Last night, right before she fell asleep on the couch. She told me she loved me. She was too out of it to realize what she said, let alone remember it when she woke up."

I am still silent. I'm sure at this point my mouth is hanging open as well.

"You know how Catherine is, she says random shit right before she falls asleep. But, what she says is always true. Something about a case we just had, something about Lindsey, something about herself. Whatever it is, it's always something that really happened or something that she really felt."

She shifts her weight to her left side, but does not take her eyes off mine.

"I knew she meant it. So I left. And I'm only admitting this to you because I know she already told you. I would never betray her in this way if you didn't already know."

I can tell that she is being completely honest, that this isn't some attempt to get me to admit to something that she isn't sure about.

"How did you know?"

"After she told me, I thought back to when you were taking care of me that night. You were watching me like someone watches a prospective lover of someone they care about. Trying to figure out whether I was good enough for your sister. I realized then that she already told you."

I nod. She read the situation for exactly what it was.

"And the reason I left is because the answer to your question is no."

I am confused.

"What?"

"As to whether I am good enough for your sister, the answer is no."

She is serious, her dark eyes show her honesty clearly.

I am unsure of where to go with this. Sara, however, takes the situation out of my hands.

"You saw me that night, Nancy. You saw what I did to that man. Is that really the type of person you want with your sister?"

I step towards her, finally realizing the situation for what it is. Sara left Catherine last night out of a feeling of obligation to protect my sister. To protect my sister from Sara herself.

Sara instantly mimics each step I take forward with her own step back. I sigh. I take it as confirmation that I lost all of the tentative trust I had gained with the guarded brunette.

I still have to know, though.

"Do you love her, Sara?"

She doesn't even hesitate.

"Yes."

After a moment, she bows her head. "I have for years."

Looking back up through her dark hair, her eyes become cold again. "And that is why I have been ignoring your sister. It's better for her to hate me than to love me. I've tried to do it in a way that was as gentle as possible, but her pain from my indifference pales in comparison to the pain she would commit herself to from my love."

Her voice is almost haunting in its emptiness.

"What you saw the other night, Nancy, that was only the surface of what I am capable of."

She slowly takes a single step closer to me.

"Nancy, do _you_ love Catherine?"

I am thrown, but I quickly reply, "Of course I do."

"Then your job, if you truly love her, is to keep her as far away from me as possible."

Her voice is low, and it sends an involuntary chill through my tense frame.

Without another word, she limps in a wide circle around me and walks out my front door.

It is then, staring blankly into my empty house, that I see a small drop of blood smeared on my wooden floor where Sara was standing only moments ago.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Sorry for the delay in update…finals, holidays, etc etc etc. Hope you are all doing well and the holiday season is a happy and healthy one for you and yours.**

**This chapter includes a short section from Sara's POV – I thought it would be helpful to check in with Sara briefly for a bit of insight into what's going on on her side of things.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

CATHERINE POV

Work has become torture.

For the last week, Sara barely speaks to me other than to report her results or to request an assignment when Grissom isn't around. Hell, I can barely get her to look at me. And what's worse, is when I do, there is this emptiness in her eyes that almost frightens me.

I don't know what happened to the kind and gentle Sara that I had been getting to know. Not that Sara is unkind now, she is just…vacant. A shell of the person I know her to be.

Nancy has also been acting strange. I try to talk to her about Sara's odd behavior, and she has nothing more to say other than "hmm". I swear she knows something that she isn't telling me, and I am going to try my damndest to get it out of her soon.

Meanwhile, I am headed to the locker room to grab my stuff and head home for the night. I have decided that no matter what, tonight I am going to take a long bath and relax. I have a strict date with a bottle of wine and vanilla bath soaps. This constant lack of sleep and concern regarding Sara's distant behavior have begun to wear me down. I know it's only a matter of time before I begin attempting to toast my coffee and brew my bread.

Entering the locker room, I turn the corner to my row of lockers and am greeted with the object of my recent thoughts.

Sara is lying across the bench, half her arms and legs are hanging haphazardly over its edges. It's obvious that she is asleep despite the extremely awkward looking position. Sara has been dragging just as much as I have this past week, frequently working doubles and rarely heading home for any decent rest.

I have felt so incredibly torn, knowing that I no longer had the right to question Sara about the circles under her eyes or insist that she take it easy on her still recovering body. Whatever friendship we had has been so obviously destroyed that I can only watch her from afar, hoping that someday she comes back to me.

Seeing her now, the permanent mask of indifference removed from her face as she sleeps, I see a glimpse of the Sara I fell in love with. She looks so young, but her eyebrows are knit slightly, letting me know that perhaps her current slumber is not completely a pleasant one. It's odd, because I take such great relief in this show of emotion, even if it's not necessarily a positive one. It lets me know she still feels, and she isn't truly as indifferent to everything as she seems hell-bent on pretending she is.

Not able to help myself, I move closer to her prone form and gently stroke her dark hair. Watching her closely to make sure I haven't woken her, I carefully brush her hair back from her face and place it behind her ear. She lets out a soft murmur, her face relaxing slightly, but she still appears to be asleep.

I know I should walk away, but I have been so starved for the old Sara that I cannot force myself to leave. Instead, I kneel next to her and place my hand on her side. Simply feeling the steady rhythm of her breathing in and out.

I desperately needed this physical connection, needed to touch her in order to assure myself that the gentle woman I knew, the woman who felt emotion and was passionate about the world, was not simply a figment of my imagination.

That the Sara Sidle I knew wasn't replaced with a ghost with a fetish for apathy some moment when I wasn't looking.

Just as I am about to force myself to remove my hand, I feel her breathing hitch. My eyes instantly flick to hers, which much to my horror, are now open and looking straight at me.

My hand is still holding her, and I cannot for the life of me find the courage to move.

"Catherine."

Her voice and face are once again void of all emotion. I can't even tell if she is mad or not.

Finally, I pull my hand from her, instantly missing the contact with her strong frame.

"I'm sorry."

I don't know what else to say.

She pulls herself to her feet and stares down at me, still on my knees in the middle of the floor.

Her eyes are greener today, compliments of the jade colored shirt she has on, but they still look cold. So cold.

"Yeah, well, next time you want to assault me in the locker room, make sure you have another job waiting for you."

And with that, she makes her way to the door and is gone before I even register the feeling of my world plummeting off its axis.

I'm sure it's another half hour before I find the strength to finally pull myself up from my knees.

* * *

SARA POV

I filled my bag with bottles until it was full, the heaviness still not coming close to touching the heaviness of my guilt.

The ignoring had been hard enough, seeing the look on her face every time I shut her out. Seeing the pain I caused her every time I responded with one word answers. Feeling her sadness every time I refused to look her in the eyes.

But what I said to her in the locker room today, I feel repulsed. Basically threatening to fire her simply for placing a concerned hand on me while I slept.

The sad part being that laying there, with her hand on my side, was the safest I had felt in a very long time.

Taking another bottle out of my bag, I decide it's time to switch over to the real deal. The potent stench of the rum greets me as I rip off the cap.

I know that what I am doing, trying to make Catherine fall out of love with me, is what is best for her. I can't risk the pain I would cause her if I ever lost control. She deserves someone better. Someone much better than what I have to offer.

But I'm hurting her in the process, and I cannot handle it anymore. If I am going to be able to do this, I need some help. I care too damn much about her to be able to do what I need to do sober.

So here's to it.

Grabbing the bottle, I take a healthy drink, relishing in the burn it elicits. Only, I wished it burned more. I wish it burned enough to burn the memory of every moment I caused her pain right out of my soul.

I haven't drank in awhile, so the rum hits me hard. Add it to the mixed drinks I had before this, and I am really starting to feel buzzed.

It's not enough, though. I need to feel numb.

But the alcohol is enough for tonight.

I finish most of the rum, saving the bottle of Percocet I picked up along the way for tomorrow.

When I have to see Catherine again.

When I have to break her heart again.

* * *

CATHERINE POV

Knocking a third time on Nancy's door, she finally opens it, squinting in the early morning light. I can tell I woke her, but I don't care, this is important.

"Catherine? Everything okay?"

I nod as my sister ushers me in. She gives me a hug and I let myself relax in her embrace. I guess I didn't realize how much I needed a hug until now.

Holding my hand, she leads me over to her couch.

Heading to the kitchen, she returns shortly with two cups of coffee.

Gratefully taking mine, I relish the warmth. Somehow I hope if I drink enough it will start to thaw out my frozen insides.

Nancy is silently drinking her coffee, waiting for me to talk when I'm ready.

She looks tired, and I realize that she has also had a lot on her mind. I think we both need this chance to talk and air everything out.

"Nancy, what do you know about why Sara is acting so distant lately?"

Nancy smiles at my directness. I have never felt the need to skirt around issues.

"I don't know Sara well at all, Catherine. I don't think I am the right person to be asking this."

I can't tell if she is avoiding the question or not.

"She won't look at me, Nancy. She ignores me when I talk to her. She gives me one word answers whenever possible. You would think I was torturing her with my sheer presence the way she rushes through her reports to me, she can't get out of the room quick enough."

I am bothered, and saying these things out loud makes me realize just how bothered I am.

"Maybe she just needs some space?"

"Space from what?! It's not like we were spending a lot of time together or anything. We had one case together. And she was fine that day, she was great, actually. She was finally starting to let me in a bit. And then something happened."

Nancy looks at me, her expression unreadable.

"I understand maybe she was freaked out about showing weakness and spending the night with me on the couch, so she left to go to that scene. But she should have gotten past it by now." I pause, thinking. "No, there is something else going on."

My sister puts down her coffee. "Maybe you should talk to her about it."

I snort. "Yeah, I'm sure that will go over real well."

"You don't know until you try, Cat."

I know my sister is right, but there is only so much rejection from Sara I can take.

"She threatened to have me fired last night."

My sister whips her eyes to mine with surprise. "She what?"

"I walked in on her sleeping in the locker room. I made the mistake of putting my hand on her while she slept. I just needed to feel close to her, the old Sara that I knew." I shake my head, the pain of the memory still fresh in my mind. "She woke up, and she told me that if I ever 'assaulted' her in the locker room again that I should find another job."

Nancy's eyes close, and she almost seems to grimace. "I'm sorry, Catherine."

I shake my head, "I just wish I knew what was going on. I think she may be in trouble or something, Nance. This isn't like her."

My sister stiffens. "Catherine, don't get angry with me for what I am about to say, but how well do you really know Sara? I mean, perhaps this is all for the best."

Wait, what?

"Excuse me?"

Nancy's eyes are determined. "Look, I like Sara, I really do. But what I saw that night at the bar, it scared me, Cath. She didn't just chase that rapist guy off, she nearly beat him to death before he skulked off. She was _so_ _angry_, Catherine. Maybe there's a side to her that you don't know about."

So this is what had been bothering my sister since that night. I should have known. Ever since Eddie, Nancy has been extremely protective of the type of company I keep.

"Sara would never hurt me, Nancy, if that's what you are worried about."

"How do you know? I mean really, Catherine. I bet you thought the same thing about Eddie in the beginning." Her expression is serious, and there is a hint of anger underneath.

She is absolutely right, but her words hurt all the same.

"I just know, Nancy. Sara doesn't have it in her. Some people can hurt other innocent people in that way, but Sara is not one of them. Hell, she nearly destroys herself to protect and save the victims we see every day. She cares more about protecting other people than anyone I have ever met."

Nancy is silent for a moment. I can tell that she isn't convinced.

"I don't know, Catherine. I just feel like maybe letting Sara have some space right now is for the best."

My eyebrows knit in confusion. "Nancy, do you know something you aren't telling me? Did Sara say something to you?"

"Look, this is really a conversation you should be having with her. But for what it's worth, I just want to be sure you are safe and that no one ever has the chance to hurt you again."

Nancy looks away from me, trying not to let me see the tears in her eyes. What I went through with Eddie years ago took its toll on her as well.

Instantly warming, I take her in my arms and she lets out a sob.

"Shh, it's alright."

She continues to break down in my arms and I hold her close.

Finally collecting herself, she offers me a half smile. "I love you."

"I love you, too." I look at her with determination. "But I also love Sara, Nancy. I love her unlike anyone I have ever loved before in my life. I trust her eternally, and I hope in the end that's enough for you to trust her as well. I know in my heart she is the only person in this world for me, the only one who can complete me and bring me true contentment. I'm not willing to give up on her."

After a moment of silence, she nods her head and squeezes my hand in hers, her tearful eyes seeming almost relieved. "Alright."

I squeeze her hand in return. "Alright."

Getting up, I head to her front door to let her get some sleep. As I step onto the wood, I see what looks to be a small blood drop smeared across her floor.

"Nancy? What is this?"

She bows her head.

"It's a reminder to me. To figure out who is worth fighting for before it's too late."


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Hello all – hope you are all doing well. Thanks again for your continuing support/interest, it really means a lot. Here is the next chapter.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

CATHERINE POV

Grabbing the case file from Grissom, I head out to find Sara. It's been a week since I had my talk with Nancy, and I have barely even seen the brunette since.

Our paths will finally cross tonight, however. We have been assigned a hit and run out in Henderson.

I head toward the labs, figuring she is likely working the evidence from one of her other open cases.

Sure enough, I find her in her favorite lab studiously poring over pictures from her scene. I selfishly take a moment to look at her lean frame as she grabs another picture off the table.

Clearing my throat, I step into the room.

Sara barely offers me a glance as she silently puts the contents of the case file back into their proper place.

"We have hit and run, Henderson. 12 year old vic, she was on her way home from school."

Sara tucks her case file under her arm and turns to me. "Okay."

Okay then.

Leading the way, I head out to the parking lot. Sara follows closely behind, dropping her file off on our way out.

Reaching our Tahoes, Sara looks at me. "You drive."

Well, that's a bit unusual to say the least.

"Sure."

I hate that our relationship has turned to this, monosyllabic responses and half sentences.

The car ride is awkward, and that's an understatement. I think a car ride with the pope and Marilyn Manson would have been more amicable than this.

Turning to Sara right before we arrive at the scene, I can't help but ask. "How are you?"

She laughs, and it sounds strange in the stiff silence of the car. Her voice is soft, dead. "I'm great. Yourself?"

"I'm good, thanks."

"Yup."

Exciting the vehicle after we pull up, I realize that Sara's injury is not bothering her nearly as much today. Just yesterday I watched her practically drag herself painfully out of the lab and into her car after a long day on her feet. Today, her leg still appears weak, and her limp still quite pronounced, but Sara barely seems to feel any pain at all.

Strange.

I don't have time to give it much more thought as we approach Brass. He tells us the details of the scene, and I can't help but notice he is watching Sara closely. I guess I'm not the only one who has been finding her behavior concerning as of late.

Sara seems unaware, and simply thanks Brass and heads over towards the scene. As is typical of Sara, she automatically gives me the body while she takes the surrounding area.

Glancing over at the body, however, she notices that it is a young blonde girl. A girl that looks a lot like Lindsey.

Approaching me hesitantly, she asks, "Cath, you want me to take her?" Her voice is almost warm, and since Sara is showing a little bit of her old self, I decide to take her up on the offer.

"Sure."

I spend the next hour or so working the perimeter. It's a cluttered scene, and there is lots of evidence to process. I am grateful when Sara finishes with the body and joins me. Silently, we methodically comb the remaining portions of the landscape, sun glistening off the pavement in stark contrast to the somber mood.

After the better part of the shift is over, we are finally packing up our evidence and driving back to the lab.

Once we return, I tell Sara she can have the car to herself to process, knowing it's one of her favorite things to do.

Or at least it used to be.

She barely smiles and simply walks off towards the garage.

Grabbing my evidence, I head to the layout room to work on my own. Shaking my head, I realize sadly that working by myself isn't going to be much different then working with the recent ghost version of Sara.

After vigilantly processing much of what I had, I asses our victim's clothing.

Seeing the tears on her jeans where she came in contact with the car, I decide to take a break and check in with Sara to see if she found matching shreds of the little girl's denim on the vehicle. Such a match would do wonders in ensuring a conviction. It's not often that I find myself hoping for damning evidence, trying to remain neutral in my investigation, but in cases such as this I don't want to leave any room for reasonable doubt. Nothing about hitting a little girl and leaving her to die is reasonable.

Entering the garage, I see Sara's long legs sticking out from underneath the BMW. Not wanting to startle her, I wait for her to wheel herself out before asking her about the clothing.

Not a minute later, she emerges from under the black vehicle, absently removing her grease streaked CSI jumper and tossing it over a stool. Seeing me sitting at the work bench, she heads over and hands me the bags of evidence she collected without a word.

Looking through the clear plastic of the bags, I indeed find what look to be pieces of the girl's jeans.

Sometimes I hate the world we live in. That someone could hit a little girl and take off running is bad enough. But when they don't even have the decency to call 911 before they leave the scene, that's when I begin to wonder if human nature can allow for such evil. Or if we are instead dealing with a whole different breed of existence entirely.

But that's just my humble opinion.

Gathering all the evidence together to add it to my collection in the layout room, I turn to thank Sara just in time to see her rub her face above her eye.

"Sara."

Turning to me, she raises her eyebrows in question.

Approaching her, I grab her hand in mine. I am absolutely shocked when she doesn't even stiffen. I would be taking this as a good thing, but when I look at Sara, she seems completely spacey. Her eyes can't even focus on me correctly.

When I feel wetness on my hand, it pulls me out of my thoughts and back to the reason I grabbed her. Looking down, I see that Sara's blood has begun trickling onto my fingers.

"What happened to your hand?"

Sara is still looking at my face.

"Huh?"

"Your hand, Sara. What happened to your hand?"

Finally looking down, she raises her eyebrow.

"Oh."

Oh, indeed. The cut isn't horrific by any means, but it is certainly deep enough that Sara should have noticed. Just like her leg, Sara doesn't seem aware of the pain.

Pulling her toward the sink, I hold her hand under the faucet. After washing away as much of the blood as I can under the cold stream, I virtually drag her to my office.

Pointing toward a chair in front of my desk, I order her, "Sit."

She does so almost robotically.

Pulling out my first aid kit, I sit behind my desk and look at her expectantly.

She doesn't move.

"Give me your hand."

I feel myself growing concerned when she hands me her right hand, the hand without the cut. Once again, she is staring straight ahead, no expression on her face.

"Your other one."

Without a word, she places her other hand on the desk, effectively giving me both. Sara is really out of it.

Taking her left hand in mine, I place cotton gauze on the back of her hand after cleaning it, just below her knuckles. Holding it in place over the gash, I wrap medical tape around her hand to hold it in place. I make sure it is tight since it was still bleeding a bit.

Sara doesn't even flinch.

I give her her hand back, and she leaves it on my desk along with her other one.

She is just sitting there, staring off into space. Her vacant gaze is focused somewhere above my left shoulder.

Taking this time to study her, I conclude that she most definitely does not look well. The pale, drawn skin of her face and arms contrasts harshly against her black tank top.

I absently wonder how long she would remain sitting here if I were to get up and leave.

"Sara."

Finally coming out of her trance, she takes her hands off my desk and stands up.

"Sara, are you alright?"

She looks at me, the expression on her face almost confused. "I'm fine."

"I'm worried about y-"

"Catherine, thanks," she holds up her hand with the bandage wrapped around it, "but I don't need you to take care of me. Hell, I don't need you period."

He voice is lifeless, void of emotion.

And with that, she is gone.

* * *

The first free moment I get, I set out on a hunt for Sara. This has gone too far. She is obviously not alright, and I am obviously not alright. I want to figure out what has happened to my friend, and hopefully in the process, what has happened to us.

Stopping by the locker room, I see that her locker door is hanging open, her stuff gone.

Our shift is long over, but the fact that she left before finishing running the information she got off the car makes me really nervous that something is not only wrong, but that something is _very_ wrong. Sara isn't one to leave a hot case under her own power. Ever.

Unfortunately, I cannot leave for another hour or two since I am covering half of swing shift tonight. The regular swing supervisor recently lost his wife to cancer, and is well deservedly taking some time off.

Instead, I do the first thing I can think of.

Grabbing my phone, I dial Nancy.

"Hello?"

"Nance, I need your help."

"You alright? What's wrong?"

I can hear the panic in her voice. It's not often I ask her for help like this.

"No, I'm anything but fine. But it's Sara I'm worried about right now. She was, off, tonight. Completely spaced out, acted like she didn't even know where she was half the time, and she took off with an open case. Needless to say, that is a sign of the apocalypse. Do you think you could stop by her place on your way home? Just make sure she is alright?"

I can hear her sigh.

"Look, Nancy, I'm sorry. I wouldn't ask you if it wasn't important. I'm really concerned about her, she didn't look well tonight at all."

"No, it's fine, Cath. I'm happy to do it, I'm just not so sure how happy Sara will be to see me is all."

I don't know what went on between Sara and my sister, but I am glad Nancy is willing to work through it to do me this favor.

"I'll check in on her and give you a call to let you know how she is."

"Thank you so much, Nancy. I owe you."

"No one should ever owe someone anything for giving them help when they need it."

And with that, my sister, her voice laced with a mixture of guilt and determination, hangs up.


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: Sorry! These chapters a bit longer, maybe now you will forget the slight delay in posting? Word of warning, these next few chapters are going to be a bit…intense? But I promise, all the characters are in good hands and there is some light to be found at the end of this tunnel. :o)**

**Hope all is well with you guys, take care.**

**Enjoy.**

**PS – Thanks again for all the reviews, I really enjoy reading what you guys have to say. I always find it interesting to see how different people view things in different ways. **

* * *

NANCY POV

Following the directions to Sara's apartment Catherine sent me via text message, I feel myself getting more and more nervous the closer I get.

I gave up on Sara.

Despite my instinctual feeling about her, instincts I have let guide me regarding everyone else in my life, I let my fear and doubts get the best of me. Granted, my intentions were good, but I still feel like I betrayed a good friend. I only met Sara recently, but I felt such an unexpected connection there. One of those things where you meet someone and you know instantly you are going to be good friends.

I just hope I haven't ruined all hope for that friendship.

But, judging by the fact I called her a cold hearted bitch the last time I saw her, the whole friendship thing isn't looking so great right now. I'm absolutely mortified to admit that I was so upset with myself and my actions towards her that night that I have been too ashamed to even attempt an apology to the guarded brunette.

Pulling into her complex, I head towards the stairwell. Reaching the third floor, I find 5B easily.

I guess this is it, then.

Knocking, I realize I am holding my breath. Oh well, maybe if I asphyxiate myself I won't have to deal with this uncomfortable situation. Here's hoping.

Alas, I am out of luck when Sara opens the door.

"Is Catherine okay?"

I agree with my sister, Sara seems off. Her curt words make sense, but she is looking off to my right and can't seem to keep herself steady.

"She's fine."

"Good."

And with that, Sara closes the door in my face.

Lucky for me, she didn't lock it. I throw the door open and invite myself in.

Closing it behind me, Sara barely casts me a glance as she sits on her counter and picks up a book.

Sara is in a t-shirt and boxers, and I feel a bit bad for intruding on her. But then again, she doesn't seem to care in the least, so then neither do I.

"Sara, are you alright?"

"New lines."

"What?"

"Ya'll need new lines. That one is getting old."

She snorts, and I'm still trying to deal with the fact that Sara just said 'ya'll'. I thought she was from California.

Looking at her, I realize she is 'reading' her book upside down.

Getting closer, I grab the book out of her hands.

"Oooh, I bet your teachers put you in timeout quite a lot."

Grabbing her face, I turn her towards me. Instantly, her smile is gone. She tries to pull away, but I hold her tight with both hands.

Angling her towards the light, I see evidence of what I suspected.

"Sara, are you drunk?"

"Take your hands off me."

Her words are not very slurred, but she definitely seems off.

"No, you're high, aren't you." It's not a question. "What did you take?"

Finally having enough of this game, Sara succeeds in pulling herself free of my grasp and drops herself off the counter so she is standing in front of me.

"Get out."

"Sara, I –"

"Nancy, get out of my apartment."

I guess now is a good a time as any to test just how dangerous Sara really is.

"No."

She continues to glare at me, but I suppose I would find it more intimidating if she were able to focus decently.

Glancing to my right, I see a prescription bottle on the counter.

Sara sees what I am looking at.

I know it's a cheap shot, but I grab Sara's injured leg forcefully while trying to be as gentle as I can. With my other arm, I reach out and grab the bottle off the counter.

Sara grunts in pain and pries my hand off of her leg before staggering away from me.

Feeling slightly guilty for playing dirty, I read the bottle in my hands. Percocet.

It's not the prescription that bothers me, after all I have been thinking Sara should have gotten pain killers from day one, but I note the quantity and the date they were prescribed. Sara is already nearly done with the bottle.

Looking at her, she only meets my eyes for a moment before turning away. I can see a thin stream of blood slowly making its way down her leg, and I feel a bit bad that I have managed to hurt Sara yet again. This time physically.

However, deep down, I know I would do it again in a heartbeat since it gave me the answer as to whether Sara is alright.

And the answer is definitely no.

The day we fought in my house, she left a small drop of blood behind. I figured it to be nothing more than a torn stitch at the most. But, judging by the ease at which her leg is bleeding now, I begin to wonder if her wound has even begun to close up at all. Even so, looking at her unsteady frame, her dark and smoldering gaze directed at the floor, I get the feeling that most of her issues and pain are internal in their source.

Sara shakes her head and turns away from me, staggering into the living room where she sits herself on the edge of her couch. From here I can see a bottle of alcohol open on the coffee table. Running a hand through her hair, Sara grabs a glass off the table and downs its contents before I even have time to move.

Damn it. This is even worse than I thought.

Heading into the living room, Sara watches as I take the bottle off the table and carry it to the kitchen.

Vodka.

And it's empty.

Tossing it into the sink, I watch it as it shatters.

Turning around, I see Sara is now standing in the doorway looking at me. I hadn't even heard her get up.

"I suppose you're not going to tell me how many Percocet you took?"

"Tonight? Three."

I sigh, it's not great, but it's also a lot less then I feared it was.

"How much of the Vodka?"

"Tonight? All of it."

Looking at her, I can see why I didn't notice it before. Sara must have drunk most of it right before I came. She is now starting to slur her words a bit more as the alcohol takes effect.

"Will you let me look at your leg?"

"You mean the one you just jammed your fingers into moments ago? No."

We are in a standoff of sorts, staring at each other – waiting to see who makes the first move.

"You want to tell me what's going on with you, Sara?"

"You want to get the fuck out of my home?"

Catherine is right, this Sara is completely different than the one I met weeks before.

I miss the old Sara.

I figure with how I betrayed and manipulated her the last time I saw her, I really have no right to question her about anything anymore. Still, I care about the brunette a great deal, and I hate to see her in any sort of harm. Especially harm that is self-inflicted.

Before I can think further, Sara starts to stagger away from the wall. The combination of the alcohol and her leg making it a tough feat. Not wanting her to hurt herself further, I reach out and grab her around the waist.

She instantly struggles against me, grabbing my arms and attempting to pull them off of her.

I am alarmed at how much weight she has lost. She was very thin before, but now she is downright skinny. She is strong, but significantly outweighed.

Finally seeming to give up, she removes her hands from my arms and holds them out in front of her in a surrender position.

"Please, Nancy, take your hands off me."

"Are you going to stay put?"

"Yes."

Tentatively, I take my hands off her. She grabs on to the wall to support herself. My arms sting, and I see red marks were Sara's fingers wracked my skin.

She sees it, too.

"I'm sorry."

"Hey, I grabbed you in the leg, so I would say we are about even."

She still seems upset, not meeting my eyes.

"I told you I'm bad news, Nancy. You should leave."

"Sara, I'm not afraid of you. No matter how much you want everyone to believe you are this terrible monster, I trust you."

"You don't know me."

"Not as good as I would like to, no. But I can read people, Sara. And I've never been wrong before."

She snorts.

"Why do you think you are such a horrible person?"

She turns away, not ready or willing to have this conversation.

"Sara, we need to talk about this."

"We don't need to talk about shit."

Well, this is going well.

I decide to try and play along with her.

"Fine, Sara. If you think I should keep Catherine away from you, then you need to tell me why in order for me to take you seriously. Lay it out for me, like a case. Give me the evidence, because from where I stand, there is none."

She looks at me as best she can in her current state.

"Will you promise to keep her away from me?"

She sounds so lost, so lost and alone that I have a hard time not moving towards her.

"If I think it's warranted after what you tell me, yes."

She assesses my honesty for a bit, then nods.

"My older sister died when I was young. Addison was my best friend, and she was the pride and joy of my father. She had gone away to school in Connecticut, and was staying with my Aunt and Uncle who lived there. When we got the phone call that Addison had died, my father turned into someone else. He became an addict and a drunk. When we later learned that Addi had been abused and raped by my Uncle for the last two years of her life, my father turned his anger towards my mother. After all, it was her brother that had violated his adored daughter. My mother became his favorite target, but when that wasn't enough, he turned on his kids. After all, we were half of our mother's blood, right? He abused my brothers to the point that I was afraid I would lose them, too."

She looks away and stops.

"Did he abuse you also, Sara?"

"My mom couldn't take it anymore," Sara continues, ignoring my question, which is answer enough. "She killed him one night, stabbed him 13 times without a word. She went to jail, where she proceeded to kill herself a short time after. My brother Parker became abusive to his family until he hung himself on his 27th birthday. Liam turned into a drug addict, and is currently serving a joint sentence for first degree murder and armed robbery. He shot and killed someone for their fucking watch."

She looks up at me again.

"It's in my blood, Nancy. You really want Catherine, or Lindsey, around me?"

I have to say, Sara's story is a lot more horrific then I imagined it to be. Even in its extremely abridged form.

But it still doesn't make me afraid of her.

Catherine was right, some people just have it in them to be able to do shit like that, but Sara doesn't. And not that it's an excuse, but tragedy in a family can drive people to become altered versions of themselves. Sara's family may have grown to be the fucking Mayberry's if her sister's death and her uncle's evil perversion never ripped their world apart.

I just don't know how to convince Sara that she is not her past.

"I don't believe your family makes you who you are, Sara. Hell, if that's the case, then me and Catherine are screwed as well. I don't even want to imagine how many bodies our father has buried under the sand of this city. Yeah, you were dealt a shitty deck, that goes without saying, but you are a good person, Sara."

She shakes her head in anger.

"Listen to me, Sara Sidle, and listen well. If for a moment I doubted you, I wouldn't let you anywhere near my sister or my niece. But I would never believe for a second you would be capable of any of the things you just mentioned to me. You are exclusively kind and gentle, Sara. At least you are when you are sober."

"That's the thing, what if I get drunk one night, and I lose control? I am so scared I am going to hurt them, Nancy! I would kill myself if I did."

Her voice cracks, and she holds a trembling hand over her face.

"Then you don't put yourself in that position, Sara. You be the person that I know you are, the woman that would protect them to the grave. You put both yourself and my sister out of this misery you both have been living in and start a life together."

She shakes her head, and pushes away from the wall. She makes her way to the counter and grabs her keys.

"Where the hell do you think you are going?!" I instinctually put myself between her and the door.

"I own a gun Nancy, all it takes is one moment of anger. One fucking moment. I can't handle that."

"Then you better figure out how to handle it, Sara! Because right now, you are destroying my sister. She is not sleeping, she barely eats, she can't stop worrying about what she did wrong to make you act like this. Not to mention what you are doing to yourself."

Sara shakes her head, "If you won't keep her away from me then I'll leave Nevada. Either way, it's not going to happen. I can't let her love me." Her words have gotten incredibly slurred and it's hard to figure out what she is trying to say. She palms her keys. "I'm sorry."

To my surprise, she has a back door to her apartment that must lead out to a balcony and a fire escape. She desperately staggers towards it.

I have just enough time to lunge toward her. If she gets to her car, she is going to kill herself trying to drive like this. Hell, she'll probably fall off the balcony before she even reaches her damn car.

Once again grabbing her around the waist, I don't spare any manners this time as I simply drag her away from the door and towards her living room. The blood still trickling down her leg has made a gory trail across her previously spotless carpet.

Grabbing Sara's handcuffs where she left them neatly next to her gun on the coffee table, I continue to drag her towards her built in bookshelf. There is a pillar along its bottom that provides the perfect location. Snapping one cuff around her left wrist, I cuff the other one to the pillar.

I allow myself a breath or two of relief before I hear Sara pulling on the cuff as hard as she can.

"Shit! Sara, stop!" She doesn't listen, and starts using her other hand to pull harder.

Her wrist is already raw by the time I reach her.

Fuck.

Grabbing the keys to the cuffs, I undo the one around the pillar and instead wrap it behind the pillar and cuff it to her right wrist. With her hands cuffed at this angle behind her back, she can't get enough leverage to pull at them with any sort of strength.

She is pissed as hell, though.

And finally, she is drunk as hell.

Her head lolls to the side before connecting with the wood of the bookshelf behind her.

I step up next to her as she half heartedly tries to angle herself away from me as much as the cuffs will allow. I sit myself next to her and direct her head towards my shoulder as she essentially fades in and out of consciousness.

Grabbing my penlight out of my scrubs pocket, I check both her pupils to make sure she is finally succumbing to the alcohol and not overdosing due to the drug and alcohol combination.

Her pupils are slow, but responsive.

I shake my head. It's hard seeing Sara like this.

She is twitching just enough for me to feel hesitant to uncuff her. I don't want to take any chances of her inadvertently hurting herself any further in her state. Not to mention taking the chance of her somehow getting out of my sight and attempting again to get to her vehicle.

I cradle her head to my shoulder with one arm while I wrap the other one around her. She is so out of it that she doesn't even resist. I silently enjoy the rare opportunity to comfort her. I have wanted to take her into my arms ever since she so valiantly shared a snapshot of her horrific past with me.

Realizing this is also an opportunity to check up on her leg, I pull up her boxer shorts until I can see her full wound.

I grimace at what I see.

Some of her stitches have torn, and from the looks of it, quite a few were torn before tonight. I am happy to see, however, that the deep parts of the gash have closed up nicely. The wound is still open near the surface of the skin, but it has healed far enough for it to continue healing using butterfly bandages in place of the stitches where they have been torn away. I'll have to be sure to grab some from the hospital next shift.

Yeah yeah, I'm a klepto. Get over it.

Holding Sara's unconscious form close to me, I lose myself to thought and eventually start to drift off to sleep despite the uncomfortable position.

I didn't even realize I forgot to call my sister.

* * *

A bright light invades my eyes.

Blinking in confusion, I look up to find Catherine standing in the middle of Sara's now well lit living room. She is currently starring in horror at the blood trail across Sara's carpet. It stands starkly out of place in Sara's otherwise pristine home.

Ohhhhh crap.

She follows the blood straight to us, and her face is contorted in horror.

"Nancy, what in heaven's name is going on?"

Looking over at Sara, I see her head is still securely on my shoulder and my arm is tightly wrapped around her waist.

Returning my eyes to my sister, I can't help but grimace. "I'm so sorry, Cath. With everything that went on here, I totally forgot to call you." I really am sorry, Catherine must have been worried senseless. "How did you get in?" I ask her curiously, knowing I locked the door behind me when I first entered.

"Grissom has spare keys for all of us for emergency purposes. I stole Sara's from his office."

Appears I'm not the only klepto in the family.

"Nancy, is she alright?"

Glancing over at Sara, I see the picture my sister has. Sara is leaning into me, arms behind her back, her right leg smeared with dried blood.

"And why is she sitting like that?" Quirking her head to the side, she walks towards us and goes around to Sara's side. From that angle, she can most definitely tell why Sara is sitting like this.

"Nancy," her voice is the epitome of tightly controlled anger. "Do you care to explain to me why Sara is handcuffed to her bookshelf?"

"It's a long story. Needless to say, she was quite drunk. She tried to make a break for her car, it was my last resort."

She shakes her head, obviously concerned about Sara drinking herself into oblivion and then trying to drive of all things.

Neither of us have time to say anything more when Sara starts coughing violently. Turning away from me as far as she can, she starts throwing up on her carpet.

Grabbing her under her arms, I hold her in place so she can puke without wrenching her wrists. Catherine has grabbed a towel and a glass of water from the kitchen.

Sara is practically hanging from my arms by the time she finishes, too weak to hold herself up. She seems disoriented as she tries to figure out why her arms are stuck behind her back. As she attempts to gain purchase with her legs, I stroke her hair and hold her to me tightly.

"Shh, Sara, you're okay. Just relax, honey."

Sara gives one last halfhearted jerk of her arm before losing consciousness again on my shoulder.

Catherine wets the towel with the water and crouches in front of Sara. My sister carefully wipes Sara's mouth with the towel and begins to clean up the carpet.

"You might want to wait on that, Cath. She drank an entire bottle of vodka. I have a feeling there's more where that came from."

Catherine stares at me in horror. "The shattered bottle in the sink…"

"Yeah."

"My God. What is she doing to herself?"

Catherine turns away, and she puts her hand over her face.

"Look at her, Nancy."

I can tell from her voice that she is holding back tears.

It's hard for me to witness Sara in this condition, so I can only imagine what Catherine must be feeling right now.

"She'll be okay, Cath."

She shakes her head, sitting on Sara's couch in defeat.

"She told me she was a user, Nancy. That's why she didn't want painkillers. She used to use them and she wanted to stay clean. So what, she switches to alcohol?"

I cringe. I close my eyes and involuntarily hold Sara tighter. I thought tonight was bad enough. Now I know the extent of the damage. The Percocet was more than just an abuse of a prescription. It was feeding an old habit.

"Nancy?"

Catherine is distraught enough, how am I supposed to break this to her?

"Nancy, what is it?"

Words failing me, I grab the bottle of pills I still have on me and toss it to Catherine.

Shaking her head in confusion, she asks, "You brought this here for her? You got her a prescription?"

I shake my head no.

"Shit." She closes her eyes. "When?"

"The prescription was filled a week ago."

Alarmed, she looks up at me. She has noticed the amount of pills missing.

"I know."

"So that's why she was so out of it at work. She was high while we were processing evidence." She angrily gets up from the couch and paces across the room.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

I nearly jump out of my skin when she hurls the prescription bottle across the room, shattering it against the wall.

The noise or my movement must have startled Sara as well. She jerks forward, halting abruptly when the cuffs hold her back. She turns a bit and repeats the same process of puking her guts out to the side. This time she is a bit more lucid as she pulls on her arms.

"Sara, shh. Stop, you're going to hurt yourself." I hold her head tightly to my chest in an effort to calm her down.

"Why bother? She didn't give a shit about hurting herself when she chugged Vodka and pain pills."

My sister's voice is angry. She has every right to be angry, but I know she is only angry because she cares so damn much about the young woman in my arms.

Sara gets even more agitated at hearing Catherine's voice. Something in her subconscious telling her the fact that Catherine is here is not a good thing. She lets out a groan and, after angling out of my grasp, practically slams her head into the bookcase behind her.

"Cath, you think we should uncuff her?"

"No, she's damn well going to stay like that until she is lucid enough to start giving me some answers."

I can understand my sister's point of view, but I am beginning to feel a bit bad for Sara.

I can only imagine what a hangover after an entire bottle of vodka and some painkillers is going to feel like. And I am damn sure finding yourself handcuffed to your own bookshelf would not help you feel any better.

I put my arm behind Sara's head when she once again slams herself into the bookshelf. Grabbing her tightly, I try my best to hold her still.

I have just enough time to turn her when she becomes sick again.

Something tells me this isn't the first time Sara has drunken herself into oblivion recently. This little tidbit, however, I am going to keep to myself. Catherine is upset enough.

I carefully wipe Sara's mouth with the towel my sister left behind.

Grabbing the glass of water as well, I hold it up to her mouth.

"Come on, Sara. Take a sip or two, honey," I plead. I get the water so it is touching her lips, and she thankfully complies by taking a few hesitant swallows. "That's it, sweetheart. Good job, Sara."

Looking over at Catherine, I can see she is close to tears, this whole situation becoming too much for her. Seeing Sara in such pathetic shape has apparently made it hard for my sister to remain angry with her for very long.

Don't misunderstand, Catherine is still livid I'm sure. As am I. But if she is like me, her concern and care for Sara is taking priority right now.

I want to go to my sister and hug her, but I don't dare let go of Sara, who again appears to be unconscious.

"Catherine, come here."

She is hesitant, barely able to look at me holding Sara's bloodied and prone form.

"Catherine."

Finally approaching, I gesture for her to sit on my other side. She does, and I instantly wrap her in my free arm. She begins sobbing into my shoulder, and I continue to hold her close.

She eventually seems to calm down, and I smile when she reaches out and tentatively strokes Sara's hair where her head is resting on my other shoulder.

Sara mumbles something incoherent in response, and Catherine can't help but smile.

"Close your eyes, Cath. You need some rest."

Catherine complies and rests her head on me. Holding both close, I carry us all into unconsciousness.


	13. Chapter 13

NANCY POV

I wake up when I hear someone calling me.

I slowly regain awareness and realize it is Sara who is mumbling my name.

I look over to her. Her head is leaning back against the bookshelf, and she is watching me from the corner of her eyes. I can see from the looks of things that Sara had gotten sick a few more times during the night, and I feel bad that I was too far gone to wake up and help her.

"Hey there. You alright?"

Sara slowly nods her head, but I can tell she is feeling anything but alright.

Her voice is hoarse when she answers me, and I am taken back to the first night when I met her – hoarse voice and all.

"Do you think," she pauses for a moment, seemingly trying to keep from puking again, "I could take a shower?"

I hesitate, I don't want the wrath of Catherine unleashed on either of us if she wakes up.

"I'm really gross."

I have to laugh at Sara's understatement of the year.

I can't blame the poor girl. If I were covered in my own blood and vomit I would be anxious to clean myself up, too.

Nodding my head, I take my arm off of Sara and use both to lift Catherine from the floor and place her gently on the couch.

Sara is watching Catherine with concern, likely feeling guilty at the fact my sister spent the night on her floor.

Taking the handcuff keys out of my pocket, I hold them out in front of me.

"I'm only going to agree to do this if you allow me to assist you the entire time."

Sara looks at me, throws in a good natured eye roll, and states with resignation, "Fine."

"Okay then." I reach around Sara's back and gently uncuff each arm. She seems a bit stiff from spending the whole night in such an awkward position, but there is no way she is going to admit it or complain. Not after the shit she pulled.

I see the angry red marks around her wrists, the left one even having bled a little bit from her original escape attempt. "Sorry about those."

She simply closes her eyes and shakes her head. "I deserved it."

She is pulling herself up before I can respond. I step close, putting my arm around her and helping her make her way to the bathroom. This whole process is so much nicer when Sara is not allowed to complain about my assistance.

"You really have to help me even with this part?" Sara asks when we arrive at our destination. She seems a bit shy, not exactly eager to whip her clothes off in front of me.

"Sara, stand on your own." With that, I let go of her and take a step away.

She instantly grasps for the counter as her one good leg is unable to support her weight so soon after the events of last night. I'm sure the dizziness of her hangover has quite a bit to do with it as well.

Grabbing her to spare her a trip to the floor on her ass, I smile, "Yes, Sara, even with this part."

Point made, Sara furrows her eyebrows and nods, "Sounds good to me."

Helping Sara peel off her clothing, I try to avert my eyes as much as possible. Despite the fact that I do things like help patients bathe for a living, I don't want to make Sara any more uncomfortable than she already is.

Taking care to keep a hold on Sara, I reach over and turn on the water. I instruct her to sit on the edge of the tub. Doing so, she is able to lean forward and wet her hair. Handing her the shampoo, she sets to work scrubbing vigorously at her scalp.

I have a clear view of Sara's back, and I try not to stare at the various scars peppered along the toned skin. If there was any doubt in my mind as to whether Sara was also a victim of her father's abuse, this is my resounding answer.

What a shame. Such a kindhearted person, tortured and forced to spend the rest of her life doubting herself. Forced to spend her life afraid to let herself fall in love for fear of hurting the ones she loves.

What a fucking shame.

"They're hard to look at, I know."

Sara has finished washing her hair and hands me the shampoo over her shoulder. Placing it back in the shower caddy, I help her stand under the spray of the water. I instruct her to hold onto her shower's towel bar as I grab her body wash. Rolling up my sleeves, I gently wash her back.

I pour some into her left hand and hold her tightly so she can wash her front. I take a wash cloth and gently clean around her leg wound, removing all the dried blood from her skin.

"They don't define you, Sara," I finally answer.

She doesn't respond.

Taking her left hand in mine, I unwrap the bandage I hadn't really even noticed before. Seeing the gash across her hand, I clean around it as well.

"What happened here?"

Poor Sara is beginning to look a bit worse for wear.

"Accident at work."

Simple enough.

Finishing, I turn off the water and help Sara step out of the tub. I also try not to look at the thinness of her frame. Next time I see Sara, I'm going to force her to eat a 5 course meal right in front of me.

I sit her on the outside edge of the tub as I towel dry her hair for her. I hand her another towel so she can dry the rest of herself off.

I am surprised when for the first time I see a tattoo running down Sara's right side, along her ribs. It appears to be a saying in Latin, and I can't help but wonder what it means.

Leaving Sara for a moment, I return with a fresh pair of clothes I retrieved from what I assumed to be her bedroom.

Grabbing the undergarments anxiously, she redresses herself with little assistance from me. I help her step into her jeans while she pulls the t-shirt over her head. I quirk an eyebrow when I read what it says.

'Organ donation, way better than piano donation.'

She shrugs and stifles a smile.

Holding her close to me once again, we walk back out into the living room. Seeing Catherine is awake, Sara stiffens at my side.

Yeah, I would be afraid if I were her as well.

Setting Sara on a stool at her counter, I turn to my sister.

"I have to leave and head back to my place before work. You two going to be alright here?"

Glancing over, Sara has her head down, staring at her bare feet. Realizing she is of no help, I turn back to Catherine. She smiles at me warmly. "We'll be fine."

"Alright, see you guys later."

Turning to leave, Sara stops me.

"Nancy, wait." I watch as Sara struggles to her feet, her body a bit better at holding her weight this time around. She takes a step forward so that she is in front of me.

Keeping one arm on the counter for support, she wraps the other one tightly around my neck in a hug.

I am so shocked I almost forget to hug her back. Wrapping both my arms tightly around her, she whispers in my ear, "I am so sorry, for everything. And I am so thankful, for everything."

Pulling away, I nod and squeeze her hand, letting her know I understand.

"Take care."

She nods and I leave her apartment.

I wait until I reach my car to burst into tears, finally having the breakdown I have been holding in all night.

* * *

CATHERINE POV

To say the environment is tense after Nancy leaves is like saying the surface of the sun is a little warm.

"I cleaned the blood out of your carpet."

Sara finally looks up at me, dragging her eyes off her feet.

"The vomit is all yours though, I have my limits."

Finally, Sara breaks into a half smile.

"You should have left it all for me." Sara sounds terrible, and it's hard to not feel sorry for her. I keep reminding myself that she did this to herself.

"Yes, I should have."

And here we are, staring at each other. Both of us afraid to move, even our breathing is tentative.

"I'm sorry, Catherine."

I have to give her credit, she is forcing herself to remain looking me in the eyes when she apologizes. Most people would be too cowardly.

I don't know what to say to her. I really don't know what she is even specifically apologizing for. I don't know whether I am ready to forgive her, regardless of what she is sorry for.

"I'm sorry, too."

Sara instantly looks confused, asking, "What for?"

"I chipped a significant amount of paint off your wall where I chucked your Percocet bottle at it."

Sara's eyes close, realizing I know she was using again.

It wasn't exactly the most subtle way of broaching the topic, but I really couldn't give a shit about subtlety at this point.

Not after last night.

Sara vomiting and bleeding all over herself was anything but subtle.

"It was a mistake."

I scoff, "No shit, Sara."

Seeing that she is not going to say anything more, I decide to step in. "You said you never wanted to use again. What happened?"

Sara is silent, and she finally looks away. She settles on staring at the blank screen of her television.

"Sara, I think it's an understatement when I say you owe me an explanation."

Sara smiles at this, mumbling "You Willows women are worse than the IRS."

"What?"

"Debt collectors." She looks at me to see confusion still plastered across my face. "Never mind."

I am done playing games. "Sara, you were high at work. While processing the evidence from a little girl who got ran over and killed. What was so important that you risked getting the entire case thrown and denying that little girl justice so you could get high?"

Sara closes her eyes, but remains silent.

"For fucks sake, Sara! I could have you fired over this, easily! Your license would be revoked and you would never be able to work in this country as a CSI again."

Sara's eyes snap open. "Fine, then do it, Catherine. If that's what you want to do, then fucking do it. It's what I deserve. Hell, you think I don't know that?"

Her hoarse voice makes it hard for her to get any sort of significant volume, but her anger is expressed loud and clear.

My anger is just as evident. "You don't get to turn this around, Sara. You don't get to sit here wallowing in your mistakes! What you are going to do, is give me an explanation."

There is a pause.

"What was so fucking important, Sara?!"

Her eyes are nearly smoldering, "You!"

My own eyes must look like they are ready to fall out of my head. "So what, I made you get high? All this is my fault?!" I snort in disgust, "That's rich, Sara."

Sara turns her back to me, a bit of the fight in her having left. "No. I did it to protect you."

I step closer to her, feeling we are beginning to get to the heart of things. "Protect me? Protect me from what?"

"From me."

Her voice is laden with emotion.

"What, are you some sort of super villain where you turn into a monster unless you take your Percocet at precisely the right time. You were protecting me so you didn't consume me and all my little human friends?"

She shakes her head in anger. "I'm serious, Catherine."

"So am I. You need to start explaining things, Sara. Cause from here, this is making absolutely no sense."

Turning around, I see Sara clenching her jaw tightly. Her eyes, though, seem to have lost some of their edge.

"You told me you loved me."

And there it is, the long forgotten feeling of having a panic attack. I know Sara, she wouldn't make something like this up.

Somehow, at some point, my secret love for her became wide open. Fuck fuck fuck.

Before I know what is happening, Sara is at my side. She tentatively places an arm around me, using the other to rub my back gently.

"Breathe, Catherine."

Taking a deep gulp of air, I feel myself slowly beginning to focus as my lungs burn in protest. The room begins to take shape once again and I feel blood pulsing its way into my head.

But I remain horrified, and I'm sure Sara can hear my heart thundering in my chest.

I shake my head to clear the haze, turning to her, "Thanks. I think I'm good now."

She seems a bit embarrassed, red creeping into her cheeks. "Good. But, um, I'm not."

I realize that the arm around my waist is likely just as much to support her as it is for me. And now, after having rushed to my side, she seems not to have enough ability left to get her back where she came from on her own.

I can't help but smile. Despite this awful situation, Sara is absolutely adorable when she is flustered.

Without a word, I gently lower our bodies to the ground. I lean my back against the back of Sara's couch, enjoying the feeling of her soft carpet under me. Sara sees my plan and separates herself from me, leaning against the back of the couch as well.

Seems like a good a place as any to have this conversation.

"How?"

She knows exactly what I'm referring to.

"You told me right before you fell asleep that night in your office."

I close my eyes. I curse the fact that I have always talked in my sleep. Many a secret have been revealed against my will throughout the years.

I feel my heart being squeezed in a vice with the realization of where this is headed.

"And you didn't feel the same, so you turned to drugs and alcohol to break the news to me easier?"

Sara laughs, and I'm startled by her reaction.

"Please, Catherine." She waits a minute and becomes serious again. "Who said I didn't feel the same?"

Can this really be happening?

"Who said you do feel the same?"

I need her to say it if I am ever going to believe it.

"I do."

With those two words, my heart is instantly set free of its painful constriction. Years of doubt, years of dark nights convincing myself Sara would never feel the same. I can't force my mind to take in the fact that this is really happening.

So much still does not make sense to me, though. I would think finding out someone loves you when you love them back would be a good thing. I know I am feeling absolutely elated, so why didn't Sara feel the same?

"I'm confused Sara. If you loved me back, then how is inebriating yourself half to death serving to protect me?"

I can tell this is it, the thing that has been keeping us apart this whole time.

"Because you can't love someone like me."

Her jaw is clenched so tightly at this point I am afraid she is going to crack a tooth.

She takes my silence as a request for explanation.

"I'm not a good person to love, Catherine. You deserve so much better than me. And I'm not just saying this in a self-pitying sort of way. I really mean it, for your own safety and the safety of your daughter, you need to find yourself someone better than me."

"So you thought turning yourself into a drunken addict would help turn me away from you?"

"Partly, but mostly I needed it to help me cope."

"Cope with what?"

"Cope with treating you like shit every day. Cope with ignoring you when I all wanted to do was hear about your day and how Lindsey's finals went. Cope with saying obscene crap to you I never meant – like having you fired or not needing you."

She turns to me and her eyes are moist. "I needed to be strong enough to do what I needed to do to keep you away from me." She pauses, and then in almost a whisper says, "To keep you safe."

I close my eyes, the realization blinding. It is suddenly all making sense. That's why my sister was hesitant about me falling in love with Sara that night we talked, Sara already told her all of this. Hell, she probably even asked Nancy to keep me away from her.

I should have known that Sara acting like such a bitch was out of some convoluted plot to protect me. Only Sara would destroy herself like this, thinking the entire time she was doing the right thing for me and my family.

I hope my voice conveys all the warmth and conviction that I feel when I say, "Sara, I don't know why you think you are not safe for me and Lindsey to be around, but I can assure you that it doesn't matter."

I feel tears running down my face. I refuse to let Sara's feelings of self-doubt deny us our future together.

I future that I know would be absolutely beautiful.

She buries her head in her arms. "You don't understand, Catherine. I'm not talking about some minor stuff here." She lifts her head and angles it towards me. In the most chilling voice I have ever heard her use, she warns, "What Eddie put you through looks like nothing compared to what I am capable of doing. And Eddie never laid a hand on Lindsey."

I would like to say that I wasn't concerned by her tone, but I have never seen Sara like this.

"Sara, talk to me. Tell me what is so horrible about you. Make me understand."

She closes her eyes, the pain of the situation taking its toll on her.

"I come from a family of murderers, abusers, and rapists. You know what becomes of the members of those families. They turn into the evil that they lived with."

"Sometimes, but definitely not always. You define who you are, Sara, not them."

I am torn between wanting to take Sara into my arms after her brief but poignant admission and wanting to shake some sense into her.

The thought that someone placed their hands angrily on Sara makes my blood boil. I can't say that I am entirely surprised to hear that she came from an abusive background, but to hear her say it aloud makes the terrifying suspicion a reality. I always considered it a worst case scenario, and its validation makes my heart break for her.

"Maybe if it were just one, but all the members of my family have killed someone, Cath. Whether it be someone else or themselves. This isn't some isolated thing, this is who I am."

"It's who THEY were, Sara. You don't have a mean bone in your body."

She laughs, and the sound is sinister. "That's the thing, Catherine. I used to be that way. Not anymore. I have turned into someone I don't recognize."

She is clenching her hands so tightly I can see her knuckles turn white.

"Nancy told you what happened outside that bar. Did she tell you I beat that man nearly to death with my own two hands? Is that really someone you want Lindsey around?"

I plea with her to understand, to see herself how I see her. "You were acting out of defense to that woman, Sara. If you attacked the innocent, I would be concerned, but you don't. You protect those you love and those that have no one else to protect them. There is no shame in that."

She seems lost in thought, and I wonder if she even heard what I just said.

Her voice is distant, "I brought foxholes to fistfights. I used to hide in my little hole, weather the storm, and then crawl out when it was over. I would heal my wounds and wait for the next wave of violence. I never fought back. But now, now I bring my own fists to the fights because I'm so angry at myself for being such a coward my entire life. I'm so fucking angry at what they took from me, but I'm even angrier at the legacy they _gave_ to me. I'm just so angry, all the time."

Her voice is shaking when she continues, "I'm afraid of the person that I am becoming, Cath. I don't even recognize myself anymore. I can't have you letting me into your life when I am like this. Please, I am begging you to walk away from this, walk away from me."

She finally turns to me, looking me in the eye for the first time. "I am so sorry, Catherine. I want to be the person that you think I am, the person you are in love with. But I'm not her. I haven't been her in a long time, if I ever even was her to begin with. I know it will be hard for you to turn your back on this, and I hate the idea of causing you pain. It kills me inside that I can't be there for you in the way you want me to, but the consequences are too great. I won't let myself destroy the most beautiful person I have ever known."

Sara's voice is raw with emotion, and she quickly wipes at her eyes before any tears are allowed to fall.

I, in turn, have rivers running down my face.

My voice is low with emotion, "You need to let me make this decision for myself, Sara. I am an adult, and I am intelligent enough to choose in life what is best for me and my daughter. Sara, you are such a kindhearted and gentle person. I would trust you with my life any day of the week. You think you are tainted, but you are the most pure intentioned person I have ever met. Please –"

Her voice is thick with resolve, "I'm sorry Catherine, but I can't let you decide to throw your life away. You see the person I want you to see, Cath. You don't see through to the darkness inside of me."

I shake my head, willing the words to come to me that will convince Sara of her worthiness.

I am stopped when Sara's strong hand reaches out and grabs hold of mine. I stare at the harsh bruising across her wrist as I hear the words that send my hopes fluttering to the ground like ashes after a fire.

"Catherine, nothing you can say will change my mind."

I know she is right. I want to ignore her words, keep believing. But I know without a doubt that she is right.

"I am so sorry, Catherine."

My dream came true today. I found out that Sara loves me back.

And now, my dream has become my nightmare.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Hope you all enjoy the next chapter :o) It's late and I can't fall asleep for the life of me, so the next chapter is ready to be posted as well and should be up in the next day or so. Thanks again for the reviews, they help keep up the inspiration to keep the chapters coming.**

* * *

CATHERINE POV

I sold my heart for a friend.

I traded in a future of love with Sara for a present of friendship.

After that memorable discussion in Sara's apartment, we seemed to have silently decided that it is better to have each other in our lives as a friend then not at all.

And now, every day feels like a fucking consolation prize.

Don't get me wrong, I think we are both happy with the close friendship that has developed between us as a result, but I can't say that the decision is weighing lightly on either of us. When I look in the mirror, I am greeted with a ghost of myself. It's hard to eat, to sleep, to breathe, knowing that the person that I want to spend the rest of my life with is so close. So close, yet just out of reach.

I can spend my days at the lab with Sara, joking with her and enjoying my time with the kindhearted brunette. But after shift, arriving back at my silent house, the smile is long gone from my face. I lay awake at night, every night, trying to think of new ways to convince Sara to give us a shot, to give herself a shot. It has become an obsession, a puzzle whose solution plagues me like an unavoidable shadow.

As I hear Sara walk into the locker room at the start of today's shift, she greets me with a gentle smile. I feel grateful for the progress we have made and the friendship that we have. I'm sure, however, the time will come when I am no longer willing to play this role.

There is going to come a day when it's all or nothing.

As for now, I'm going to relish in the friendship and the feeling of warmth running through me as Sara squeezes my shoulder on her way out of the locker room for another day of work.

**************

NANCY POV

To say I'm surprised to see Sara sitting in the dark on my front steps when I pull into my drive is an understatement. Her arms are folded tightly around her knees, her head bowed. Her face is obscured by her dark hair, but I can easily tell it is her.

Locking my car behind me, I feel my eyebrows knitting in confusion.

Approaching Sara, I try to settle the anxiety mounting inside of me.

"Hey, Sara."

She looks up quickly, and I realize Sara has been so lost in thought that she didn't even hear my arrival. Based on past experiences with my sister, I know it takes a lot to distract a CSI to the point where they are utterly oblivious to their surroundings.

"Hi."

She doesn't look likely to say anything else. I feel my confusion, and now my concern, grow exponentially.

"You okay, Sara?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Sorry." She shakes her head in embarrassment. "I hope I'm not imposing or anything, I can leave…"

"No, no. Come on inside, I'll put some coffee on."

Sara thankfully accepts my offer with a slight nod and silently follows me inside.

This is the first time I have seen Sara since that poignant night in her apartment. We left on a comparatively good note, but I didn't exactly expect to see her initiate contact with me so soon after. It's not that I'm not happy to see her, but I keep searching my brain for what could have brought the elusive brunette to my door on this chilly night.

"Have a seat on the couch," I yell behind me as I start the coffee and throw my stuff on the counter.

After an uneasy couple minutes spent watching the slow drip of my coffee maker, I finally enter the living room with two steaming cups in hand. Sara seems like the type to enjoy hers black, so I didn't even bother to bring out any cream or sugar.

Sure enough, Sara gratefully takes her cup from me and takes a long drink, eyes closing in what I assume to be satisfaction.

She looks exhausted, and I feel a bit guilty for supplying her with loads of caffeine when what the girl so obviously needs is a good night's sleep. But perhaps I am being a bit hypocritical, taking a hearty sip from my own cup when all I really want to do is have one night where I don't toss and turn the hours away.

Either way, I'm much too tired for any sort of productive self-reflection. Mastering the skill of swallowing my coffee without drooling on myself is about my limit right now. I sit and drink in silence, patiently waiting for Sara to make the first move.

After more than a moment of awkwardness, I hear Sara snort. Looking over in surprise, I find Sara eying me with a slight grin and a quirked brow. Her expression suggests to me that I should know why she is here.

Did we plan to meet and I forgot?

"I made a promise," Sara says simply, when it becomes obvious that I am unlikely to do anything other than stare at her blankly.

I'm sure this is supposed to mean something to me, provide explanation for why she is here, but it really doesn't help. At all.

"What promise?"

Sara smirks and gestures to her leg.

Recognition dawns on me, and I place my remaining coffee on the table with a smile. "Your stitches."

Sara nods and places her own coffee on the table, her cup empty. Guess someone really needed a pick-me-up.

"Wait right here, I have something for you."

Sara furrows her brow, perhaps a bit tentative about what I could possibly have for her.

Returning quickly, I place the butterfly bandages I stole from the hospital on the table.

Sara rolls her eyes, "Thank God, Nancy. I've been fruitlessly trying for months to get myself some of those for craft hour."

It's my turn to roll my eyes as I gently ask, "Roll up your pants, smartass."

Ok, maybe it wasn't really asking.

Sara just chuckles and rolls up her black sweatpants. I assume she changed after work just for this reason. Taking the scissors I also grabbed from my room, I gently snip away all the remaining stitches from her leg as I pull out the remnants of the stitches that broke long ago. I'm happy to see that the wound has truly begun to heal up nicely. After everything is removed, I apply the butterfly bandages in relatively quick order as Sara watches me closely. I pull her pant leg back down before setting everything on the table.

"Your hands."

Sara looks puzzled, and I reach out and take her cold hands in mine. I carefully look at her wrists and the gash across her left hand. Satisfied that all is healing well, I place her hands back in her lap as I catch a glimpse of her reddened cheeks and averted eyes.

I guess the reminder of the day she obtained those injuries isn't exactly welcome.

Catherine told me what happened at Sara's after I left. I could tell that it absolutely devastated my sister. Looking at Sara now, pale and exhausted, it doesn't appear that she is faring all that well herself. Despite the brave faces and the light hearted attitude they both seem to have mastered, I can tell that there is a lot of unseen emotion brewing underneath.

"Thanks," Sara says softly. "I guess I should go."

Something makes me hesitant to lose the brunette so soon. I have to admit, even though a lot of my energy has been rightfully focused on keeping my sister together these past couple days, I have been quite worried about Sara as well. She is one of the strongest people I have ever met, but even she isn't invincible.

But Sara likes her space, and she really doesn't like attention on herself. As a result, I haven't mentioned anything about that night to her since it happened. I think we are both similar in our desire to put everything behind us and simply move on. But right now, with her sitting here in front of me, unable to meet my eyes, the emotion I have been holding in around her in the past is working its way to the surface.

I know that Sara likely has mixed emotions regarding me right now as well, but despite all that has gone on recently, I feel touched that Sara thought enough to fulfill her promise to me. Especially since the last thing I wanted was to have to invade her privacy yet again by showing up on her doorstep with my scissors in hand like a demonic Martha Stewart. I see it as Sara's way of extending a peace offering and letting me know there are no hard feelings on her side, and I am very thankful for the gesture. I hope I have also conveyed to her that there are no hard feelings on my side either.

Even so, I can't ignore my gut feeling that the walls she put up after the argument we had in my house are still firmly in place. In fact, I think they may even have invited some friends along for the stay. We are still friendly with one another and share a unique connection, sure, but the trust isn't there anymore. And, quite frankly, I don't know how to get it back. Or if I ever will.

"Please stay."

I don't recognize the pleading tone permeating my voice. There is something about the brunette, her calm and steady nature in spite of everything, that makes me feel that as long as she is here with me I can put some of my demons on hold for awhile. I have been functioning at such a high level of stress and tension for so long that I am afraid one more hour spent alone staring at my ceiling tiles is going to finally flip some sort of switch inside of me. And I don't want to explore the flipped-switch version of myself any time soon.

Sara looks up at me in surprise, finally meeting my eyes and assessing me with such intensity that I almost have to be the one to look away.

"Is everything okay, Nancy?"

Maybe it's the genuine concern and warmth in her voice, maybe it's the culmination of the past couple days, maybe it's the energy I have spent trying to keep a strong face on for my sister, maybe it's the full moon, but I know I am crying before I even register the feeling of tears falling down my cheeks.

Either way, it was just the right thing said in just the right way to make me finally lose my grip on my emotions in front of her. All pretences are dropped as I simply crumble to pieces.

"Nancy."

Sara silently moves next to me and pulls me to her. Holding me tightly, she lets me sob into her t-shirt. I'm usually a very even keeled person, rarely shedding a tear in the presence of someone else, but everything of the past weeks – the anger, the concern, the fear, the anxiety – is all finally crawling its way out of every dark place I had tried to tuck it away in inside of me. And, I have to admit, it feels damn good to let go.

When I feel there is nothing left inside of me to shed, I eventually compose myself - but I'm not eager to leave the safety of Sara's strong arms. I keep a tight grip on her as if she represents sanity itself. Surprisingly, Sara doesn't seem to be in any hurry to let me go, either.

"I'm sorry," I eventually mumble. Now that the moment has passed, I am beginning to feel a bit ashamed at my display.

"Don't."

It's only one word, but I can feel the guilt, the shame in it. Sara blames herself for my current state of disarray.

"We both messed up," I simply state, hoping she understands my meaning. Yes, she made some bad decisions that have contributed to my melt down, but so did I. I practically chased her away when she needed someone the most. I questioned her worthiness of being with my sister. I played right into her deepest fear.

Most of all, I should have been a friend and recognized she was in trouble.

Sara stiffens slightly, but she decides not to argue with me.

And so we stay like this, Sara holding me protectively in her arms, my coffee cold and forgotten.

Sometime later, I am vaguely aware of Sara gently pulling us down into a more comfortable laying position. Before I know it, my eyes are closing.

My second last thought before drifting off to sleep is that I am about to have the most restful night I have had this week, maybe even this year.

My very last thought is that I need to find a way to get Sara to trust herself enough to let my sister love her.

Catherine should have a lifetime of falling asleep in Sara's comforting embrace.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Thanks SO much for all the reviews, they are beyond appreciated. This chapter may seem kind of random - but there are some events that need to be set in motion to finally push things to a resolution. Take care, and enjoy.**

CATHERINE POV

* * *

I hear footsteps rushing up behind me just when I have lost all hope of leaving this situation with my limbs intact.

"I got it," the voice belonging to the feet assures me.

Gratefully handing over the evidence box to my tall companion, I step off the ladder and catch my breath. I had been standing there, balancing a full box of evidence precariously on my head, trying to get my balance enough to start my decent.

Turning around, I see Sara trying hard to smother her smile as she sets the box down on the table.

"Hey, just because Big Bird loaned you his legs doesn't mean you get to make fun of the rest of us," I say jokingly.

Sara laughs and brushes the dust from the evidence box off her hands. Looking at me, she reaches out and brushes what I also assume to be dust out of my hair.

"You're lucky I didn't let you walk around the rest of shift with spiders nesting in your hair for that comment," she says with a smirk.

Ew, guess it wasn't just dust. I'm going to work very hard not to think about spiders laying eggs on my head for the rest of the day.

Suppressing a shiver, I turn to the box in front of me. My case tonight involved evidence that was linked to an old cold case, thus my digging through the lab basement.

"You usually spend your down time in the evidence vault?" I ask Sara.

"Yes."

I have to look at Sara to assess her level of sarcasm. Seeing that she is serious, I shrug.

"Okay."

Yeah, I think it's a bit weird, but to be honest, there are quite a lot of things Sara does that I think are a bit weird. Part of the reason I love her so much. There is definitely something to be said about unpredictability.

"Whenever I close my cases and don't have anything new to work on, I come down here. I pretty much close my eyes and pick a case at random, then I go through the evidence to see if I can find anything new. Somehow it makes me feel better about all these cases sitting unsolved down here, gives me comfort knowing that even though they are unsolved, they aren't forgotten."

I look at Sara, touched by her devotion to the victimized.

I realize she isn't paying me any attention. Instead, she is looking into the box that I just pulled the lid off of. Her look of concern makes me turn my own gaze to the box in front of me.

"Um, Cath?"

Looking down, I see what she sees. This box is filled, yes. But it is filled with blank sheets of paper. Like paper you would buy from an office supply store for your printer. Someone unwrapped bundles of paper and left them in this box in order to give it appropriate weight as to not raise suspicion.

Where the hell is the evidence?

"You've got to be kidding me."

Sara sends me a quick glance, and then ascends the ladder to the spot where I just pulled this box from. Grabbing the boxes from either side, she steps back down the ladder. Opening both boxes on the table, it is apparent that the proper evidence for those cases is still intact.

Someone must have specifically been targeting the evidence in my box.

Sara closes her boxes back up and replaces them on the shelves.

"You okay?" I ask her when she winces a bit on her way off the ladder. I guess the climbing up and down the ladder with the heavy boxes in tow didn't do wonders for her still healing leg.

"Yeah, I'm good." She sends me a look, gesturing to the box, "What do you do about something like this?"

"Go to Grissom, I guess. It's obvious that someone with access must have done this. We need to keep it quiet."

Sara nods, "Well I guess your night just got more interesting."

"I'll say," I state with a frustrated sigh. "This is just what I needed."

Rubbing my temples, I can feel the exhaustion that has been a permanent companion to me lately creeping up again.

Sara has a look of pain on her face as she watches me.

"Catherine," she starts, then seems unsure how to continue.

I know what she is thinking, she feels responsible for my exhaustion, my frustration. And yes, the situation with Sara has a lot to do with it. But I can tell that she doesn't want to bring it up, for fear of causing me even more pain.

As if that were even possible.

She shakes her head, apparently deciding not to vocalize her thoughts.

Before I have a chance to dwell on it any more, a slow creaking sound comes from the shelves behind us.

Instantly, I am filled with the feeling that we aren't the only ones down here. I distinctly feel the presence of another person with us.

Sara catches my eye, and gestures to the stairs. She is trying to tell me to keep an eye on them and watch for someone trying to make an escape while she attempts to flush them out.

Pulling her gun silently, she approaches the darkened hallway leading to the rest of the shelves. I remove my own gun as I follow slowly behind, all the while keeping my eye on the stairs.

Despite her limp, Sara makes her way through the shelves without a sound. Whoever is back there is not going to be able to hear her approach. Whether he can already see us is another question.

Just as Sara is about to reach the last of the shelves, I nearly shit myself when the dim light above me goes dark. The room is instantly plunged into darkness and a corresponding metallic bang crashes out from the back of the room. Before I have time to think, I see a dark figure rush in front of the light shining through the open door. The figure is through the door before I have time to do more than turn my gun in that direction.

I feel my heart drop as the door is slammed shut behind the figure, converting the darkness into absolute blackness. The sound of the outside bolt scraping into place is just the icing on the cake.

I wait a moment in the silence that follows, trying to assess where Sara is and if we are alone.

Not hearing anything, I decide to take a chance and call out to Sara.

My voice is no more than a whisper, "Sara?"

Sara on the other hand replies at normal volume, "Yeah, I'm in the back. There's no one else here."

I feel my tense muscles begin to relax. Holstering my gun, I head towards the sound of Sara's voice. Nearly banging into a shelf or two, I finally reach the last row.

"Be careful of the shelves, Cath."

Hearing Sara's voice again, I am able to approach her location. Stepping towards her, I am surprised when my boot connects with flesh.

Sara's voice is slightly amused, "That would be my ass, Catherine."

Reaching down blindly, I feel Sara's shoulder and sit next to her on the floor.

"Sara, why are you sitting on the floor? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. I just figured it would be awhile until someone unlocks that door, so I might as well get comfortable."

Her response is logical, but her voice seems strained.

Deciding I better not alienate the person who saved me from being alone in this dungeon, I don't push her.

Opening my cell, I confirm that I have no service. I'm sure Sara has already done the same. In the dim glow of my phone, I can see Sara has her head buried in her arms.

Remembering Sara's troubled past, I can't help but wonder if the current situation is bringing back unwelcome memories for her. I know better than to ask her directly about it, and I decide that a bit of human contact may do her some good.

Reaching out into the darkness, I find her arm and link mine through hers. I can only hope that my touch is enough to offer her some security.

"Catherine, would you be happier if I left Vegas?" I am absolutely thrown by her question.

"Where did that come from, Sar?"

"Please, just answer me. And be honest."

I take a moment to think about it. In some ways, it would truly be easier to go through the day to day without Sara around to remind me of what I cannot have. But to be honest, the thought of not having her in my life at all is much more frightening and desolate than having her near. However painful it may be.

"No."

"Are you sure? Because I can go back to Massachusetts. I don't want to make things any harder for you, Cath."

"Yeah, things aren't ideal for me, Sara. But I need you in my life. Call me selfish, but I don't think I could make it through without at least knowing you are here with me. Even if it's just as my friend."

Sara doesn't speak, probably trying to assess my level of honesty with her. I think she knows me well enough to know that I would tell her if I thought it would be better for her to leave.

"I thought you were from California."

Sara lets out a sigh. "I am. But home is in Massachusetts."

Deciding to avoid the heaviness of her statement, instead I mutter, "Yeah, but snow is in Massachusetts."

She lets out a soft laugh, "Which is actually one of the things I miss the most."

My eyes open wide, "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Sara, would _you_ be happier in Massachusetts?"

"Sometimes. But I wouldn't be complete. And I care about that more."

Sara's answer is simple, but it is thick with meaning.

I can't help my initial feeling of frustration. After all, it is Sara that is keeping us both from being complete.

"Why are you asking me this all of a sudden, Sara?"

Sara is silent, and I can feel her arm grow tense in mine.

"Because I hate to watch you suffer. I feel like my decision to spare you pain is causing you a different kind of pain. I feel like despite my best intentions, I am slowly destroying everyone around me." She takes a moment, then says, "I just needed to know if by being here I was doing more harm than good."

She mistakenly takes my silence as agreement.

"Cath, just say the word and I'm gone. I promise."

Shaking my head even though I know she cannot see me, I hold her tighter to me. "Sara, you already know my opinion on the situation. I won't lie to you and tell you your decision has been easy for me, quite the opposite. But your leaving would only make things worse."

She takes a moment, then simply says, "Okay."

I can feel her take a deep breath. "So, maybe now we should talk about the random guy stealing evidence and locking us in basements?"

I laugh, realizing that we hadn't even addressed the current situation.

"Well, I sure as hell didn't get a good look at him other than to tell he was male. You?"

"He was waiting for us to come looking for him. He had his back to me and his hand was in the fuse box. As soon as he figured we were close he pulled the fuses and ran for the door. All I saw was dark hair, tall build. Hopefully he left some prints behind and they're in the system."

"If he works here, they definitely will be."

I feel her body move, and I assume she is nodding her head.

"Catherine, were you expected anywhere anytime soon?"

I know what she is thinking, she wants to know how long it is going to be until someone notices we are missing.

Unfortunately, I only have bad news. "Not exactly, unless something new comes up in trace with my evidence and they try to page me. I already picked up all my results and I'm solo on this one. You?"

"Nope. I closed all my cases, thus my being down here. And I just got off a double, everyone would likely assume I went home."

I smile, "They would, except that you are Sara Sidle."

She nudges me playfully with her shoulder in response.

I am now beginning to tremble a bit from the cold.

The evidence vault is temperature adjusted to the door. When the door is closed, the room is kept quite cold to help preserve the evidence being stored inside. The door is opened and the temperature is set to increase by ten degrees in order to provide a more suitable working environment. The door being closed with us inside? Yup, not exactly pleasant, especially since we are both in short sleeves.

I don't know whether it's worth irritating my only companion in the darkness by trying to get closer to her for some warmth. I smile into the darkness when Sara apparently feels my trembling and wraps her arms tightly around my shoulders without a word.

I snuggle closer into her embrace and we wait in silence.

And wait.

And wait.

Suddenly, just as I am about to suggest Sara put her lighter to good use and start igniting some old case files for warmth, light is thrown into the room and the door screeches open.

Instantly, Sara is to her feet and practically runs to the door, scaring the crap out of the day shift worker who came in here to get some evidence.

After explaining the situation, we get the room roped off in order to assess just how much evidence has been disturbed.

Sara offers to stay behind and take prints so I can talk with Grissom.

I nod, and without hesitation, I take Sara into my arms.

"Thank you for being here, I don't know what that guy would have done if I was alone in there with him."

Sara hugs me back, holding me tightly in her strong embrace. "My pleasure."

I leave her then, before I get too emotional.

Ever since Lindsey lost Eddie, I'm paranoid about leaving her an orphan.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Thank you again EVERYONE who reviewed. I usually check my email before heading off to class and clinical, and you have no idea how many times I randomly break out into a smile throughout the day thinking about the kind words you guys have given me. People probably think I am losing my mind or hearing voices, but I don't care. I only hope that I continue to give you guys some sort of enjoyment through this story as well.**

**Alright, things are actually winding down, believe it or not. The end of this journey is soon upon us.**

**Enjoy, and take care.**

* * *

CATHERINE POV

After speaking with Grissom, he wanted me to immediately return to my scene and make sure there is no other evidence to link the crime back to the cold case. He is anxious to get all the evidence tightly secured before anyone has a chance to make it disappear.

Pulling up to the sandy desert house, I still feel on edge about what happened earlier. I see Officer Trip Trenton waiting in the driveway, and I start to feel better.

Trip is new to the force, and although we like to rip on the rookies a bit, we know they are often more thorough than some of the elder officers. They are still at the point where they want to get everything right and fear the thought of making a mistake. Trip is also a new father, so I know he is as eager as I am to make it safely home to our families.

Smiling at him as I approach, the young man tips his hat and sends me a warm, "Evening, ma'am."

"You know, Trip, you can call me Catherine," I say with a smirk. We have gone through this same routine with every case we have worked together so far.

"Yes, ma'am," he says with a wink.

Shaking my head, I step inside the house.

I am combing through each and every room with renewed fervor. If some asshole is trying to sabotage this case, I want to do everything I can to nail the bastard.

I have just finished with the family room and am about to step into the kitchen when I hear a commotion outside.

Stepping toward the front door, I cautiously call out, "Officer Trenton?"

Hearing no response, I slowly approach the front door. "Trip?"

Looking through the front screen, I am shocked when I see Sara's Tahoe and Brass's sedan in the driveway. Just as I am stepping outside to investigate further, someone grabs me around the neck and pulls me the rest of the way out the door.

Instantly, I realize Trip Trenton has his gun pressed to my head.

You have got to be fucking kidding me.

Brass has his own gun pulled and is pointing it straight at us.

"Trip, put the damn gun down!"

Officer Trenton instead presses it to my temple even harder. I'm sure I'll have a nice bruise there later. And, where the hell is Sara?

"You let me leave here, or I swear to God I'll kill this bitch."

Looking at me, Trip lets out a sinister laugh. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'll kill _Catherine,_" he says with mocking emphasis on my name.

Wow, was I wrong about this young man. I never would have guessed such a profound level of evil was in him. Just goes to show, you really cannot take anyone at face value these days.

Somehow, despite the panic of the situation, my mind turns to Sara. What makes Sara different that I take her at face value? She has told me upfront of the 'evil' that is in her, yet I refuse to accept her warnings, why?

I feel the gun pressed tighter against my head as Trip begins to grow desperate, effectively turning my thoughts back to the situation at hand. I can feel beads of sweat trickling down my face as I squint painfully into the harsh sunlight.

Just as I am about to lose hope of getting out of here alive, the front door is literally ripped off its hinges from behind us. Before I know what is happening, Trip swings around and points his gun at the figure standing in the doorway.

Instantly, shots ring out and I feel myself falling to the ground.

All time as slowed, the world a haze of dust and eerie silence.

It takes me a moment to realize that Trip is lying next to me, a bullet hole through his forehead.

My ears are ringing, and I can't for the life of me make sense of what just transpired.

Brass is quickly by my side and pulls me to my feet. I can see that he is saying something to me, but I cannot focus on his words.

I see Sara standing in the doorway, her gun still outstretched, not moving.

"Catherine?!" Finally, Brass's voice works through the fog.

He seems to be looking me over, trying to assess the damage. I can already tell that I am not seriously hurt. A scrape or two from the fall, and blood pounding through my head hard enough to almost make me see double, but I'm simply lucky to be alive.

"I'm fine," I assure him, squeezing his hand for emphasis. Poor guy looks ready to have an aneurism.

"You sure?" he asks. I can tell he wants to confirm I am fine, but he is already glancing over to Sara's unmoving form with concern.

"Go to her, Jim."

He nods his head, giving me a quick hug, and cautiously moves over to the brunette.

"Sara?"

Sara doesn't respond, her gun still outstretched tightly in her now shuddering hand.

"Sara, honey, hand me the gun."

Sara still doesn't move, but her eyes narrow slightly.

"Sweetheart, you did well. But I need to take your gun now, alright?"

Brass and I exchange a worried glance when Sara still stays frozen.

Brass slowly reaches out to Sara's arm, directing her gun toward the ground. Gripping the gun in his own hand, using the sleeve of his suit jacket to protect the evidence, he gently but firmly pulls Sara's fingers off the grip with his.

When the gun is finally removed from her grasp, she turns, as if noticing Brass for the first time.

"Is he…" Sara trails off.

Brass understands her unspoken question perfectly. "He's dead, Sara."

Sara only nods and begins to turn away.

Brass quickly reaches out and grabs her by the arm with his free hand, "You had no choice Sara, you had the shot and you took it."

Sara blankly nods her head, trying to turn away again. It's obvious that she doesn't believe a word Brass is saying.

Brass refuses to let her out of his strong grip. "You listen to me Sara Sidle, you cannot blame yourself for this. He was a dirty cop, he killed who knows how many people and tainted who knows how many cases before this one. He was going to kill Catherine, he got himself assigned to this detail today to do just that. You did nothing wrong!"

Sara is now wincing under his tight grasp and the volume at which he is using to try to get through to her.

"He was a father, Brass. He has a 3 month old baby at home."

Angrily shaking his head, Brass keeps his hold on the brunette. "He put himself in this position Sara, not you. It was his choices that resulted in his death, not yours. Do you understand me, Sidle?"

I can tell Brass is desperate to get through to Sara. They have always had a special bond, each being the family the other one was without.

Sara nods, most likely trying to placate him more than anything. Brass surely knows this, but he also knows that he can't manhandle and yell at Sara for forever.

Letting her go, he looks at her sternly, "We are going to talk about this later, Sara."

Again, Sara nods, but her eyes are empty.

Sara turns to me for the first time, "Are you alright?"

I try to smile at her warmly, my hands still shaking. "Thanks to you, yes."

Sara only grimaces at my words and walks towards her car.

"I'll give my statement back at the station." She throws over her shoulder to Brass and gets in her car.

We watch her drive off, matching expressions of apprehension on our faces.

Sara has never had to kill anyone on the job before. She has shot and wounded a suspect once, but this was the first time she had to shoot to kill. My mind flashes back to the conversation I walked in on her having with Warrick in the break room years ago.

When she stated she could never take a life.

With all that Sara is going through right now, specifically her self-doubt regarding her ability to control her anger and her fear of hurting those around her, I can only imagine the degree to which this day is going to torment her.

If there was even a chance of getting Sara to trust herself enough to start a relationship with me before this, it now lays shattered and bleeding, right next to the body of Officer Trenton.

* * *

**A/N part 2: Oh dear! Can things get any worse?! Yes. Will they? Yes. Before you begin sewing voodoo dolls in my image, I promise this story has a happy ending – and the light at the end of the tunnel is not a train, you have my word. **


	17. Chapter 17

**AN: Okay, so we have arrived at the end of this trip. Yes, this is the last chapter. It may come as a surprise to some that this is the end, but know that I debated long and hard about adding to the end (part of the reason it took me so long to update) – but in the end I decided to leave it as I had originally planned it. **

**BUT, for those of you looking for more to this story, perhaps you will be interested in the fact that I have decided to write a sequel (which may eventually turn into a series, who knows). I have already started working on the next story – which is at this point longer than this entire story. Yup, at this point I have 122 pages (54,742 words) already written, to be exact. It will take place where this story leaves off - with an established relationship between Sara and Catherine (which means I get to finally write some romantic stuff between the two). Nancy will still have a prominent role in the next story.**

**Let me know your thoughts about continuing this story with another – I don't want to presume anyone would be interested if they are not…feel free to be honest!**

**Thanks again for all the reviews – each and every one of them really helped the next chapters to keep coming, and also helped me decide to keep the story alive with a sequel.**

**Without further ado, here is the next chapter.**

**Enjoy! **

CATHERINE POV

Finally leaving the lab hours later, I head straight to Nancy's house. Brass explained to me that Sara was running the prints from the fuse box earlier when she saw the name of Officer Trenton come up. Knowing I was alone at the scene with him, she called Brass on her way to her Tahoe and peeled out of the lab so fast he almost wasn't able to catch up to her in his cruiser.

He explained that Trip likely knew that I would be returning to the scene to find more evidence to link the cases together, so he made sure that he was the one to cover it.

Brass didn't have to repeat what he was thinking, that Trip went there to make sure I didn't find anything at that scene. And if I did, he wanted to be there to make sure I wasn't alive to turn it in.

There is no way in hell I want to be alone right now.

Pulling up in my sister's drive, I am relieved to see her car in the garage.

Practically running up the steps, I throw my key in the lock and let myself inside. Nancy looks up in surprise from her place on the couch. She puts her book down and steps towards me. Seeing the bruise on my face, she instantly stiffens.

"Catherine, what happened?"

I reach out and hug her, falling to pieces in her arms. The weight of the day, the feeling of my life almost being ripped away from me, it all works itself out in gut wrenching sobs.

Nancy holds me tightly, and I can tell she is starting to get very worried. I manage to mumble an "I'm fine" in with my tears.

She snorts, holding me tighter.

Finally pulling away, she moves my hair to the side to assess the damage. Seeing for herself that it's only a bruise, albeit a nasty one, she looks the rest of me over closely. Seeing the scrapes on my elbows, she pulls me over to her kitchen where she proceeds to clean and disinfect them.

Finishing, she brews some coffee, still neither of us saying a word.

Finally, sitting with our cups in front of us, I tell her what happened at the scene. Each detail burning my tongue with acidic bitterness as it makes its way out. Somehow, saying it all out loud makes it not only more real, but more malicious.

At the end of my story, she shakes her head, muttering, "Have I mentioned to you lately how much I hate your job?"

I can't help but smile, "Only every other Tuesday."

She nods her head, "Good." Looking at me closely and holding my hand in hers, she asks, "You're sure you're okay?"

I smile at her caring, assuring her as best I can. "I'm a bit shaken up, but I'm fine, Nancy. Sara literally saved my life."

Nancy smiles in return, but there is an obvious hesitance to it.

I know she is already thinking of the repercussions this is going to have on the brunette.

She seems almost afraid to ask as she softly says, "How is she?"

I cringe and place my head in my hands.

"That bad, huh?"

I mutter into my fingers, "Worse."

Nancy lets out a breath and shakes her head. "I can't imagine how taking a life, however justified, is going to help her not see herself as a killer."

I feel renewed tears come to my eyes, "There is no way she is ever going to give us a chance now."

It's not a question, and Nancy's silence speaks volumes.

"If only there was a way to _show_ her, to prove to her that even in her darkest hour she would never lay a hand on anyone unjustified."

Nancy nods her head in agreement, both of us at a loss of how to proceed.

Eventually, Nancy reaches out and takes our empty cups to the sink. Taking me by the hand, she leads me to her room. Carrying out a tradition we have had since childhood whenever one of us couldn't sleep, we curl under the covers together.

I stare at the ceiling, praying that wherever Sara is tonight, that she is okay and that she is safe. I also throw in a request for some inspiration and some insight.

I refuse to accept that I lost my chance at love tonight.

CATHERINE POV

Maybe it was the thunder, or maybe it was the jolt of inspiration that jarred me from my sleep. Either way, I knew clearly and perfectly what it was that I had to do to convince Sara that she would never hurt me.

Sara's words from that one fateful day in her apartment had been replaying in my head all night.

"_Catherine, there is nothing you can say that will make me change my mind."_

She was right, there is nothing I could say. But there sure as hell is something that I can _do_.

I may destroy myself in the process, but this is something I am willing to attempt for the both of us.

Grabbing my keys off my sister's counter, I silently slip out the door. Driving through the pouring rain to Sara's apartment, I pray that she is home.

Climbing the steps of her building two at a time, I almost pass her door in my urgency. I slide the key to her apartment that I have yet to return to Grissom into the lock with shaking hands.

Pushing the door open, I close it behind me. Sara can be pissed all she wants. In fact, it's better for my plan if she is pissed. Turning around, I nearly jump out of my skin when I see Sara sitting on her counter staring at me.

There is absolutely no expression on her face. Silently, she lifts a glass to her mouth and takes a drink, not taking her eyes off me.

"Are you drunk?" I ask her, the water dripping from my hair making soft splattering noises as the drops fall to her floor.

"Yes," she simply states. No apology, no embarrassment.

Good.

Reaching out for the bottle of rum on her counter, I pour even more into her glass.

"Drink up," I tell her with a smile.

She knits her eyebrows in confusion, but continues to drink the alcohol in her glass.

Seeing that the bottle is nearly gone already, I won't have to get her to drink much more. I need her perfectly balanced at severely drunk without stepping over into so drunk that she passes out.

While I'm at it, I pour a small amount into a spare glass for myself. I am going to need all the courage I can get to follow through with my plan.

Sara is just finishing hers when I pour in the remains of the bottle. She simply shrugs and downs the rest in one swift motion.

I take my time drinking mine, allowing the alcohol to work its way into Sara's system. She doesn't seem eager to move or question my presence in her home, perfectly content to watch me silently the entire time.

The only thing throwing off the plan I have is the fact that Sara is no longer in possession of her firearm. So, I made sure to bring mine along for that very reason.

I make certain Sara sees me as I take my gun out of its holster and place it on her counter with a heavy thud.

She looks at my gun, then drags her eyes back up to mine.

The look in her eyes now is so desolate, so lost, that I almost have a hard time not abandoning the whole thing so I can tuck her safely away from this harsh world. From the look in her eyes, I am also suddenly very glad that she did not have her gun with her tonight while she was drinking here alone.

Quickly swallowing the rest of the rum for motivation, I reach over and practically rip Sara off the counter. She lands painfully on her feet, instantly shifting her weight to her good leg. Her face is blank.

Bolstering all the courage I have inside of me, I pray for forgiveness and strength as I slap Sara harshly across the face.

Sara's head jerks with the force, and she takes a moment before turning back to face me. Her face is still unreadable, but her eyebrows rise slightly in surprise.

Steeling myself, I slap Sara again, this time even harder. Sara reaches out and grabs a hold of the counter in order to keep herself on her feet under the force of my hand. Again, she turns back to me.

Part of me is angry as hell at the bastards in her life that fucked her up so badly that she is willing to stand here and take my abuses. I'm sure that somewhere inside of her, she even feels that she deserves it. I can only trust that my plan works as I hope, because laying my hands on Sara after all she has been through in her life is making me sick.

This will only be worth it if it works.

Deciding to get this over with as quickly as possible, I take a deep breath and hit Sara across the face, this time with the back of my hand.

Again, Sara's head jerks to the side. She turns back to face me with confusion deep in her dark eyes. Good.

"Catherine?" Her voice is soft and slightly slurred, the innocently questioning tone nearly causing everything in me to break.

I hit her again, and this time a thin stream of blood begins to run from her nose. I am about to quit, not able to stand the thought of hurting her when she turns back to me.

This time, there is anger in her eyes.

I am close, I can feel it. I just need to keep going for a little while longer.

Grabbing her by the throat, I push her head into the cupboard behind her. The volume of the impact nearly matches that of the thundering of my anxious heart. I can see her hands clenching into fists at her side, and the blood from her nose has now begun trickling down her face and neck, saturating her white shirt.

Deciding to force this nightmare to an end, I grab her by the throat again, this time with both hands. I push her back up against the wall, and refuse to release my grip.

I can see her fists growing closer to me, all she has to do is reach out and grab a hold of me.

Or, reach out and grab a hold of the gun I made sure is still well within her reach.

I see pure rage, a wildness in her eyes. She looks ready to strike back, the lack of air forcing her to make a decision before she loses the chance.

And then, that's when it happens.

All of a sudden, her eyes shift. The rage is replaced with hurt, sorrow, bewilderment.

Her hands unclench and drop to her sides.

She begins making a gurgling noise and starts to grow limp in my arms.

Immediately, I pull my hands away. She instantly falls to her knees, gasping for breath. She begins coughing, and it sounds wet. She is likely coughing through the blood that is dripping down her throat from her nose.

I feel like I am about to vomit.

The scene before me is torture, and knowing that I am responsible for it is beyond my ability to cope with. I fall to my knees aside Sara.

I know better than to reach out to her, I lost that right the second I laid a hand on her.

I can only hope that in the end it's worth it. That she accepts the truth I forced her to witness tonight.

I can only hope that in the end, she forgives me.

NANCY POV

Waking from my sleep, I immediately notice two things. One, it's storming outside. Two, Catherine is gone.

I sit up, trying to think of where she could be. I know she wouldn't have gone home, not tonight.

Maybe she went to Sara's?

As if in answer to my question, her statement from earlier plays itself back in my head.

"_If only there was a way to show her, to prove to her that even in her darkest hour she would never lay a hand on anyone unjustified."_

Oh God, Catherine, what have you done?

I grab my keys as fast as I can, thankful I was sleeping in civilized clothes. I peel out of my driveway and try to pay attention to the road as I speed towards Sara's.

Reaching her apartment, I don't even feel the rain as I rush up the stairs to her door.

I don't have a key.

Knocking, I grow more panicked as no one responds. I saw my sister's car in the lot, I know she is here.

I bang on the door with my foot as well as my fist, hearing a muffled curse yelled from one of Sara's neighbors. I couldn't give a flying fuck at this point. I'll bake them a damn casserole when all this is over.

Just when I am about to break the door down, I for some reason get the divine inspiration to try to the knob. I nearly cry with relief and embarrassment as I realize the door is unlocked.

My relief is cut short when I cross into Sara's apartment.

I slowly close the door behind me as my mind tries to make sense of what I see before me.

The first thing my mind registers is the blood. There is blood on the floor, on the counter, on my sister, and mostly on Sara.

Then I see the gun sitting on the counter, right next to an empty bottle of alcohol.

None of this is looking very good at all. Both my sister and Sara are sitting on the floor, eyes blank. I would swear they were dead if it weren't for the sounds of heavy breathing.

Seeing the blood making its way down Sara's face, I decide to check on her first. I get close to her and try to turn her head to look at me. She immediately jerks away from me, connecting solidly with the wall behind her. Her eyes, however, are still blank.

Shit.

Deciding to give my sister a try, I put my hand on her shoulder.

"Cath?"

Catherine, thankfully, turns her hazy eyes to look at me.

"Catherine, what happened here, honey?"

Her face becomes pained, and she quickly looks over to Sara. She tries to get up and go to the injured brunette, but I hold her back.

"I think it's better to give her some space right now, Cath. She's pretty out of it."

Catherine turns back to me, and the pain in her eyes is chilling.

"What happened, Catherine?"

"I had to show Sara."

"Show her what, sweetheart?"

"That she wouldn't hurt me. No matter how drunk, how pissed off, how _justified_ she would be. She would never lay a hand on me."

I don't know what to say.

"I hit her, Nancy. I kept hitting her. I can't believe I did such a thing."

No wonder Sara wouldn't let me near her.

"I was choking her, she got angry. She got so angry, but she didn't touch me. My gun was right there, and she didn't even touch me." Catherine looks me in the eyes. "She let me strangle her and wouldn't even touch me in order to fight back. She would let me kill her, literally _kill her_, and never lay a hand on me."

Catherine's eyes fall to the floor.

"I had to make her see, Nancy."

Then she is in tears.

"I'm so sorry!" Catherine lets out a gut wrenching scream, losing herself in my arms for the second time tonight.

I understand my sister's plan, and in the end, I recognize it is the only thing that would force Sara to see what Catherine already knew. But still, it seems harsh, and reckless.

Sara was drunk. I understand that it was part of the plan, to make sure that Sara wasn't using logic, only instinct, but the fucking gun is what gets me.

One miscalculation and Sara could have destroyed both their lives.

I also wonder if my sister and Sara are strong enough to get past this. I hope Sara is able to forgive my sister, to trust her again after what she did tonight, after she handled her with hands of violence. And I hope my sister is able to forgive herself. I know that this must have been near impossible for her to do to the woman that she loves.

Hearing a wet coughing sound coming from behind me, I turn to see Sara struggling to breathe around the blood that is still coming from her damaged nose.

She seems to grow a bit tense, but she still seems disoriented.

Catherine mutters in anguish, "My God, Nancy, what did I do to her?"

I stroke my sister's hair to calm her down and step cautiously towards Sara, kneeling in front of her.

"Sara?"

Sara doesn't even acknowledge me, her eyes looking at nothing.

"Sara, we need to stop this bleeding and get you to lean your head forward so you can breathe easier, okay?"

Again, nothing.

As I move closer, Sara tries to push herself farther away from me.

"Please stop, Dad."

Sara's statement stops me dead in my tracks.

"I'm sorry. You're right, Father, it was my fault."

She is now looking at me, but is seeing someone else. It's obvious that she is lost in a flashback. The events of the night likely taking her back to her childhood.

Her abusive childhood.

I curse under my breath. Catherine really did a number here tonight. I need to get Sara back to reality.

"Sara, it's Nancy. You're okay, honey, you're safe."

Sara continues to stare.

Out of other options, I grab a hold of her shoulder. She instantly struggles against me, trying to push herself away from my grasp. Reaching up, I grab the Brita filter from her counter and dump the entire pitcher of water on her.

Instantly, Sara freezes her movement, and her alarmed eyes shoot to mine.

"Nance? What the…"

I let out a relieved breath, and I nearly weep at the sound of my nickname. I haven't been blind to the fact that ever since I met Sara, she has never once used my nickname – always Nancy. Always formal and guarded.

"Hey, Sara." I say with a smile.

"You're going to have to refill that, you know."

I smile broadly with relief as it seems a bit of the old Sara is back. She still sounds a bit drunk, but seems remarkably sober after drinking what I assume to be the entire bottle of rum.

"I promise."

She nods with a slight smile, and looks around. The memories of the night seem to come back to her, and she briefly closes her eyes before fixing them on my sister.

She pulls herself to her feet and makes her way to Catherine, who is now also on her feet.

Without a word, Sara embraces Catherine in her arms.

"Sorry I'm wet, you can blame your sister for that."

Catherine laughs and holds Sara to her tightly, tears running down her face.

"I'm so sorry, Sar. I am so so so sorry."

Sara shushes my sister, holding her tight.

"You did me a favor, Catherine. Don't apologize to me. Ever. I can't imagine how hard it must have been for you tonight. Honestly, I am ashamed to say I don't think I would have been brave enough to do it if the situation were reversed." Sara's eyes bore into Catherine's. "Thank you."

Sara is running her hand softly through Catherine's hair, calming my sister more and more with each stroke.

I don't know how I could have ever doubted this kindhearted woman standing before me. I am convinced that Catherine could never find anyone better on this entire planet.

Sara grows serious. "I still don't trust myself completely with you, Cath. I don't know if I ever will, to be honest. But you helped me see how nearly impossible it would be for me to ever hurt you."

"Sara, you literally would let me kill you. You didn't even raise a hand to me in order to protect yourself, to save your own life."

Sara nods, "I know. But it's not a guarantee."

I can see my sister deflate, beginning to think this all was for nothing.

"That being said, I'm willing to give us a try. Call me selfish, but I was beginning to lose my resolve anyway – the idea of living even a day more without you by my side was tearing me apart. But we have to go slow, Cath. And at the first sign of danger, I'm out of your life." Sara's voice is stern, somber.

Catherine only holds Sara closer in response, likely willing to take whatever Sara is willing to offer.

Sara shakes her head, "I never thought the day I would allow myself to be with you would be the same day I killed someone. Ironic, huh?"

Catherine pushes Sara out at arm's length, forcing Sara to look at her with one hand under her chin.

"Sara Caelum Sidle, you know that was not your fault. Don't ever regret what you did today, unless you also regret saving my life. Because that's exactly what it was."

Sara nods solemnly, turning her eyes away.

Catherine nods her own head. "Good."

I step closer to the pair, who now seem content to hold each other like lovesick puppies.

"Hey guys? I hate to feel like I am intruding. So would you mind letting me take a look at Sara and then I can let you younglings be?"

Catherine's eyes fall to the floor, and this time Sara is the one forcing my sister to look at her. "Catherine, I'm fine. Don't ever regret what you did today, unless you also regret saving my life. Because that's exactly what it was."

The meaning behind her words, Catherine's own words repeated back to her, rings loud and clear. I don't think either Catherine or I will ever understand completely what went on for the brunette tonight.

Catherine nods, and Sara steps in front of me.

"We have to stop meeting like this," I mumble to Sara as she sits herself on the counter. I briefly wonder why Sara never actually sits on her stools.

Reaching out, I turn her face towards the light. I can see her nose is broken without even having to touch it. Damn.

Pulling the towel off Sara's faucet behind me, I wet it a bit and wipe the blood off Sara's face. I am happy to see that at least it has stopped flowing out her nose.

Getting to her neck, I can see two distinct handprints revealed across her throat under the blood as I wipe it away. It's hard for me to look at, and I can only imagine how Catherine is going to be able to handle seeing her handiwork displayed across Sara's skin for the next week or so.

"Turtleneck sweaters," Sara mumbles to me quietly enough so only I can hear her, reading my thoughts perfectly. "Lots of turtleneck sweaters."

I snort in response, this girl really is something else.

Reaching around to the back of Sara's head, I run my fingers through her hair in order to check for any bleeding. I assume Sara likely hit her head against the wall when my sister was choking her.

Wow, I never thought that sentence would ever pass through my thoughts.

Satisfied that the most serious thing Sara sustained, physically at least, is her broken nose, I try to figure out a way to give the news carefully so that my sister does not become upset. Or, more accurately, more upset than she already is.

Sara catches my eye, and seeing the silent request in her hazel eyes I ask Catherine to grab some ice from the freezer.

Using the moment alone, Sara quietly says, "I know my nose is broken, Nance. I'll stop by the hospital tomorrow to get it taken care of."

I don't like keeping things from my sister, but right now I'm with Sara. "Fine, but you come during my shift." Knowing her aversion to hospitals, I want to be there to make things as easy on her as possible.

Sara smiles, "Deal."

Just then, Catherine returns with the ice, wincing as she looks at Sara's face.

"So what's the verdict?"

"Oh, she'll be fine. Damn baseball bat couldn't hurt this thick head."

Sara playfully swats me upside my own head.

I smile, "Alright kids, I'm going to head home and get some sleep. Try to behave yourselves."

My sister pulls me in for a long hug, promising with her eyes to call me later and fill me in on everything.

Turning to Sara, I carefully pull her off the counter and into my arms. Placing a gentle kiss on her cheek, I whisper in her ear.

"Welcome to the family."

EPILOGUE - NANCY

Pulling up to the colonial blue ranch house, I smile.

It's perfect.

Grabbing the bag out of my car, I step up to the front porch. I see Sara laying on the porch swing, asleep in the gentle sunlight.

She looks good. All the reminders of the traumatic events of the last year have healed, leaving her looking more relaxed and whole then I can ever remember seeing her. She still has a limp when she walks, but somehow it only adds to her character.

I am surprised when the blanket Sara is wrapped in moves, revealing a blond head of hair. I smile as my sister rolls herself over so that she is facing Sara on the large swing and takes the brunette in her arms. Sara, in turn, wraps her arm protectively around Catherine's waist and sets her chin gently atop my sister's head.

Both seem peaceful and happy.

So very, very happy.

Taking the bag in my hands, I place it on the front steps. I see Mesa, their Collie mix, perk his ears at the sight of the package.

"Don't you dare touch this!" I threaten him with all the fierceness I can fit into a whisper.

He only snorts in response and lays his head back down.

Heading back to my car, I turn around for one last look and smile.

They don't need the housewarming present I just left them.

This house has all the loving warmth it needs already.

-THE END-


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